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THE UNIVERSITY 
OF ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


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LIBRARY 
OF THE = 
UNIVERSITY OF IDEINO!S 


“ 


se et 


Wearts and Wands. —Frontispiere. 





p. 45. 


They heard him talking to the flowers. 


CHILDRENS 


HEARTS AND HANDS. 


yt 


“ Father and Saviour! plant within this bosom 
The seeds of holiness, and bid them blossom 
In fragrance and in beauty bright and vernal, 
And spring eternal; 
“Then place them in those everlasting gardens 
Where angels walk, and seraphs are the wardens, 
Where every fiower, brought safe through death’s dark portal, 


Becomes immortal.” 
BOWRING. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 


No. 1122 Cuestnur Street. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by the 
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 


in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States 
for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 





CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


CHAPTER I. 


ye APA,” said my little Esther, 
one bright May morning, 
“T want to whisper to you a 
minute, and then you must 
let me run away, and don’t 
ask me any thing till 1 come 
again. Will you, papa?”’ 

There was no one else in the room, and 





& 


I did not see much occasion for the whis- 

pering ; but perhaps little children who 

read this will understand how it was easier 

for Esther: to whisper than to speak aloud. 
7 


(986220 


8 CHILDRENS HEARTS AND HANDS. 


So she put her little arms around my neck, 
and said,— 

“Tf I come to your study to-day, I 
want you to hold out your golden sceptre 
to me, as King Ahasuerus did to Queen 
Esther.” 

Then away flew the little feet lightly 
and quietly out of the door and down the 
steps, her hat swinging around upon her 
arm, and, with one sparkling glance, half 
coquettish, half love, she was bounding off 
among the apple-blossoms and robin-red- 
breasts. 

‘Dear little child! God bless her!” I 
said, and then went off to my study, with 
a fresher heart and greater faith in God 
than if those little, loving, trusting arms 
had not just twined themselves about me. 
I could hear her singing among the birds, 
as if she were one of them, for half an 
hour; and then she came in to get ready 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 9 


for school, And my heart caught the tune, 
and, in its joy, poured forth a song of praise 
to the dear Father of all, that He had be- 
stowed such a gift upon me. 

After school I waited for her, thinking 
she would come then; and presently I heard 
her stepping slowly along the hall, as if 
pondering very deeply the request she was 
going to make. She stopped a moment at 
the door, and I heard three very light little 
taps. So I took up a long, slender cane 
that stood by me, and, as she came in, 
held it towards her, smiling, and saying 
nothing. 

As she walked slowly up and touched 
the end of my make-believe sceptre, I said, 
slowly and gravely,— 

“What wilt thou, Queen Esther, and 
what is thy request? Even to the half 
of my kingdom, it shall be performed.” 


And she answered, like the queen,— 
2 


10 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


“My petition and my request is, if I 
have found favour in the sight of the king, 
and if it pleaseth the king to grant my 
petition and to perform my request, let the 
king listen now to that which I have to 
plead before him.” 

Then, throwing away the cane, and 
springing into my lap, she went on :— 

‘Papa, dear papa, you are so kind, I 
know you will help me, if I do not hope 
and want too much. It is a great deal for 
a little girl to do, but I keep thinking of it 
all the time. I can’t get it out of my mind; 
and so lam come to tell you. Now, listen, 
papa, and please don’t think I am foolish, 
and too young, and say, ‘Wait till you are 
a woman, my dear, before you think of 
such things.’ And please don’t say any 
thing till I get through.” 

Then she nestled down in my bosom. 


Oh, if God’s little children would only 


CHILDREN §S HEARTS AND HANDs. II 


come to Him in this same way, full of 
trust and clinging love, throwing the arms 
of faith confidently, beseechingly, about 
Him, pouring out their hearts’ desires, 
surely He would always hear and answer, 
and fulfil His promise, ‘‘ Whatsoever ye 
shall ask in my name, believing, ye shall 
receive. It is precious, precious to an 
earthly parent to have a little one come 
so; and, as God’s greatness and love are 
the fulness of what is only begun in us, so 
it must be more precious to Him,—this 
trust, this faith. 

She was still a minute then, and I only 
stroked her little, soft curls, as she lay there 
quietly as at any other time. 

iN Papas” 

“Well, darling?” 

“You know that poor, poor foolish boy, 
almost an idiot, that runs all about the 
streets, and steals and swears and does 


12 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


dreadfully wicked things, and all the boys 
plague and chase and frighten him so?” 

“Yes, Esther.” 

‘Well, papa, when I visited at Aunt 
Mary’s last fall, Mr. Lockhold told us 
about a place where they take poor little 
children like him, and teach them to do 
right, and be useful, and all about Christ; 
and, if they never get very bright, they 
learn to love and trust Him, and to be good 
and quiet.”’ 

‘Yes, dear,—the Asylum for Idiot Chil- 
dren.”’ 

“Yes: that’s it. And Iam sure this boy 
isn’t as bad as some that are sent there; 
for when any of us treat him kindly, or 
give him any thing, he is always trying to 
do something for us in return; and he seems 
to know a good many things. And Mr. 
Lockhold said, when he told us about them, 
that some that are sent there can hardly 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 13 


talk. And, papa, don’t you thinks John 
could be sent there and learn to be gi 

Nobody teaches him any but bad things 
here; and his mother hates him as much as 





anybody.” 
“But, dear, his mother is poor, and can’t 
afford to send him there.” 
“T know it; but 
‘But what?” 
“‘Can’t you send him, somehow, papa?” 





“T am poor too, dear,—though not as 
she is; but I couldn’t afford to send him 
there.” 

She kept still then a long time, nestling 
in my arms, only opening and shutting, 
her eyelids very slowly over her large 
earnest eyes. I knew she was thinking, 
and waited. . 

“Papa.” 

“Well?” 

“Tf we should tell them how poor and 

2 | 


14 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


forsaken and neglected he is, wouldn’t they 
take him without pay ?” 

“You can write and ask them.” 

“T, papa?” 

elaee FOU 2). | 

“Oh, papa! I should be afraid; and I 
couldn't make them understand. You 
didn’t mean that J should write, did you, 
papa? You are joking. You are laugh- 
ing at me because I am such a little girl 
to” And the large, sweet eyes began 
to fill with tears. 

‘No, Esther; [ am not joking, nor laugh- 





ing at my little girl, nor thinking her too 
young to do this thing. I am delighted 
that my daring has thought of it, and 
hope it will prove that God has put the 
thought in her heart for the salvation of 
this poor boy. But, if you are in earnest, 
—if you really want to do something for 
him,—the thought is yours, the desire is 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 15 


yours, and you should be willing to make 
some effort to carry it out. If we only 
do good when it is easy, and leave undone 
what costs us something, our love must be 
very weak. You mustn’t be afraid. You 
can write and tell them about him, and 
that you want him to go to them and be 
taught about Jesus. You can tell them 
he is a grateful boy, and all about him 
that you know. Perhaps they take some 
poor children: I don’t know. I will see 
what I can find about it; and, if they don’t 
take him so, perhaps you can do something 
else to get him there.” 

“What, papa?” 

“T don’t know myself, dear; and we 
will try this way first.” 





‘But, papa ‘ 

‘What, darling?” 

‘Won't you write?” 

“No, dear: I would rather you did that.” 


16 OHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


“They wouldn't mind a little girl, papa.”’ 

“Esther, do you remember how Moses 
told the Lord that he was of a stammering 
tongue, when He was sending him to Pha- 
raoh, and how God was angry with him 
for wanting some one else to go instead? 
Now, this is your work. God wants you 
to do it; and, if you love Him and pity 
poor John, you will try. Don’t grieve Him, 
as Moses did, by trying to get another to 
do the work He has committed to you. 
If you are in earnest, you will write.” 

“T am in earnest, papa; but——"’_ And 
the little tears began to come. I held her 
close in my arms, and stroked her soft curl- 
ing hair, but neither of us said a word for 
a while. Then I said,— 

“Esther, I want to say a little prayer 
with you, and then papa will be busy 
alone.” 


And we kneeled down, and asked God’s 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 17 


blessing on the thought He had given her ; 
that He would help her ‘‘to do with might” ° 
this thing “that her hands had found to 
do,” and to bless the poor boy, and to open 
the hearts of these good men to receive 
him. And afterwards I gave her my bless- 
ing, and she went down-stairs. 

For the next three days Esther looked 
very sober. Sometimes I thought I saw 
traces of tears on her face; but I said no- 
thing to her about them, nor about the 
letter. It would come, I felt sure; for I 
had faith in my little daughter. And so 
it did. One evening I sat on the piazza, 
with my back turned to the open glass 
door of the dining-room. I thought no 
one was at home but myself; but presently 
two little arms were around my neck, and 
a voice behind me said,— 

“T have written it, papa; but I am 


afraid,—afraid it won’t do.” 
B Q% 


18 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


And then she drew away one of the 
little hands, and brought it back with the 
letter. Then it went up to my head and 
played with the white hair, while the other 
lay still around my neck. 

This is the letter :— 


“DEAR GENTLEMEN :— 


‘There is a poor little idiot boy in our streets, 
that no one cares for. The boys plague him, and 
I have seen men do it too; and they chase him, 
and teach him to swear and to do bad things. 
No one teaches him any thing good; but, if we 
ever give him-any thing, he tries to do something 
for us. So he is grateful, and, I am sure, could 
learn good things. Mr. Lockhold told me all 
about your house, and I wanted papa to send 
him to you; but he says he can’t afford to, and 
that, if I would write to you, perhaps from pity 
you would take him. Please do, and Jesus will 
love you for it. 

“ Your little friend, 
“KstHER H——.’ 


“Will it do, papa?” 
“Tt will do very, very nicely, my dar- 
ling; and I will send it to-morrow. I have 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 19 


learned something about the asylum, and 
find it is partly a State institution. That 
means, that the State gives money to take 
care of some who cannot pay. This num- 
ber is limited; and perhaps they cannot 
take John. -But we will pray about it, 
and God will direct. Come and sit with 
me, darling.” And we sat there a long 
time, that beautiful spring evening, and 
Esther repeated some hymns, and we sang 
one together that mingled with the little 
birds’ sweet songs of praise, and went, we 
trust, up to the great white throne. 

The next day I added this to the letter — 

“My little girl’s statement is true. I 
leave it to make its own impression, and, 
with her, wait eagerly for your reply.” 

One week passed. ‘Two weeks passed. 
Every day Esther asked, ‘Is there a letter, 
papa?” Each time I had to say, “ No, dear; 
but I think it will come.” 


20 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


One day she said, “‘ Papa, won’t you 
write again?” 

“We will wait another day or two, dear, 
and then I will, if nothing comes.” 

But that day it did come. I called over 
the stairs,— 

‘‘Hsther, here is a letter for you.” 

“Qh, papa, papa! Will they take him?” 

“T don’t know, dear. It is directed to 
you. I haven't opened it.” 

She was with me in a moment, and 
opened the letter. 


’ 


‘Please you read it, papa.’ 


‘“ DEAR ESTHER :— 


“God will bless the little heart that so early 
pities the unfortunate. May He make you grow 
into a useful Christian woman! I answer your 
ietter myself, because I love httle children and 
love to write to them. It was overlooked and 
unread until yesterday. God’s providence was 
in this; because I couldn’t have written so favor- 
ably before. Two days ago, one of our State 
patients died, leaving a vacancy in that deyart- 


CHILDREN 8 HEARTS AND HANDs. ¥YI 


ment, which poor John may fill, according to your 
wish and God’s care. Your father will make 
out the necessary papers, as directed herein, and 
we will receive him with a welcome whenever 
he may come. _ 

‘“ K— R——, Superintendent.” 


IT thought little Esther would dance 
about the room and clap her hands for joy 
as soon as I had finished the letter; but 
papa did not know the depths of that little 
heart, and he has learned since to feel that, 
in children as well as older people, it is 
God alone who can comprehend the whole. 

‘What is the matter, Esther?” I asked. 
“Don't you like the letter? Are you not 
happy? Are you not glad?” 

The little eyes were full of tears again. 

“Yes, papa; but - 

“Well, dear?” 

“Papa, do you suppose God did put 





that thought into my heart? Do you 
suppose God has been in my heart?” 


22. CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


“T do, my darling. Indeed I do.” 

‘How, papa?” and the little hands were 
clasped, as if in awe. 

“By His Holy Spirit, dear.” 

“Ts His Holy Spirit God Himself?” 

“Yes, dear. He condescends to visit 
our hearts to influence us to all good and 
to teach us of Himself and of Christ.” 

“Will He stay with me, papa, and will 

He put other good thoughts in my heart?” 

“Tf you will let Him, dear. If you 
will welcome Him, keep the doors of your 
heart wide open to Him, and not grieve 
Him away by wrong thoughts, He will 
abide with you, and help you always to 
be good, more and more and more.” _ 

‘Papa, if He is willing to abide with me, 
He must be willing to abide with any one.” 

“Yes, dear.” 

‘With poor John, papa?” 

‘Yes, indeed,—with poor John.” 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 23 


‘‘ How can He be with every one, papa?” 

I answered as Gol had answered me 
long, long before, when I had asked Him 
the same question :— 

‘Look at the sunlight, Esther. It is 
the spirit of the sun. It penetrates and 
abides with every thing and every crea- 
ture, unless we choose to shut it out. It 
dwells with every tree and leaf and flower, 
making them grow and bud and blossom. 
Without it, all would die. Looking down, 
the sun sees them all, and shines for all. 
Looking up, they all can see the sun. Yet, 
if you should tell one little flower this 
truth, it would wonder how the same sun- 
light could warm a whole world of flowers. 
God is the sun of our souls. His Holy 
Spirit is the omnipotent sunlight by which 
alone we can live.”’ 

Then we kneeled down again, where, a 
short time before, our petition had gone up, 


24 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


and thanked our loving Father that He had 
heard us and condescended to allow us to 
be the means of doing this poor boy good. 
We prayed that he might learn of Jesus, 
and love the right and the good, and that 
the Blessed Spirit would rest upon and 
abide with both these children,—the little 
one so precious to me and upon whom He 
had bestowed the great gift of intellect, and 
upon the one less blessed, but still beloved. 

‘When can he go, papa?” 

‘“T don’t know, dear. I will see about 
it to-morrow. He must have some decent 
clothes, and we must get his mother’s con-’ 
sent. Then the papers must be made out 
and signed, and some one found to take 
him there.” 

‘Now, then, papa, I will go and tell 
mamm~a, all about it;” for ‘‘mamma”’ had 
not been in council at all—at Esther’s 
request, as she had wanted her to know 


CHILDREN § HEARTS AND HANDS. 25 


nothing about it till all was arranged. And 
she bounded off with the glee and sparkle 
which I had expected to see at first. 

John’s mother was “glad enough to be 
rid of him,” shé said. Other matters were 
soon arranged, and all that remained was 
to see him properly clothed. Esther went 
about among her young friends, and they 
soon collected a sufficient wardrobe. Then 
a good Irishwoman took him in hand, and . 
he came from her looking much improved, 
inasmuch as he was clean. For my little 
readers must know that an idiot, if left 
to his own care, is invariably uncleanly ; 
and poor John had afforded a deplorable 
example of this fact. 

In a few days more, he was safe in his 
new home, under the charge of those who 
knew how to care for him and would love 
him for Christ's sake. Yes, even love 
him,—a poor, disgusting, untaught idiot, 


26 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


—with the same kind of love that Christ 
gave the world; because he was ‘‘one of 
God’s creatures.” 

And now my little Esther’s share in his 
story is told. The poor, forsaken, untidy, 
persecuted boy had found a shelter, food, 
clothing, kind friends, and care, through 
her love and pity. 

And the consequence of this deed of 
love I will go on to tell you; because it 
was the result of what she did,—-of what 
she did by cherishing a thought which 
God put within her heart. If she had 
thrown it aside, and said, “I am _ too 
young; I can’t,” or if, while she longed 
to do it, she had yielded to her natural 
shrinking from the effort, John might have 
lived and died the same poor, degraded 
object that we found him. Instead of that 
fate, however, something far better came to 
him, in God’s kind providence. 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 27 


CHAPTER IT. 


QOHN’S teachers found him 
Af) much less idiotic than many 
of the children given to their 
care: still, he was an idiot, if 
not in the worst, yet appa- 


rently in every sense of the 





’ word; and, moreover, he had 
been utterly neglected and untaught for 
ten or eleven years,—which made it much 
more difficult to rouse the little intellect he 
had, than if his education had commenced 
at an earlier age. In some ways he showed 

_ signs of improvement, and, as Esther had 

t written, he was sensible of kindness and 


28 CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS, 


naturally grateful, trying to do little thins 
for those who gave him his food or in 
other ways served him,—often even taking 
things from others to give to those taking 
care of him. And it was long before he 
could be made to understand that this 
was wrong. 

But he was still very careless in his habits, 
and no means used or words spoken seemed 
able to create the faintest sense of neat- 
ness. ‘l'o you or me looking on, it would 
have seemed a hopeless task; and I fear 
our charity would have been overcome by 
our disgust. But the patience of these 
kind instructors is, after God, their greatest 
strength; and, besides, they know from ex- 
perience that sometimes, when there seems 
no hope, a gleam of light will come to 
these poor beings, or an unsuspected chord 
is accidentally touched, opening a clear and 
unobstructed passage into the mind and 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 29 


heart and up to God. Such a chord there 
was in John; and I will tell you how it 
was found and played upon, until the 
poor, repulsive idiot was transformed into 
a pure and beautiful spirit, delighting in 
the service of God. 3 

One day a little girl of thirteen or four- 
teen years came with her parents to visit 
the asylum, She was one in whom God’s 
grace dwelt,—not a perfect child, as you 
will see, but one whom he was teaching, 
and who listened to his Holy Spirit in her 
soul. Every day she thought of him; and 
a kindness done or a sweet word spoken 
to one of his creatures was her offering 
of love. God saw that she loved him 
with her sweet child’s heart, and he came 
and dwelt with her, as I have said. See 
Jesus’ words in John xiv. 23:—“If a 
man love me, he will keep my words; and 


my Father will love him, and we will 
3% 


30 GHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


come unto him, and make our abode with 
him.” 

The morning that she came, she had 
prayed that she might do some good to at 
least one of the poor idiots whom she was 
going to see. And when she prayed, she | 
meant to try; for the Holy Spirit had 
taught her it was mockery to pray for 
God's help and then hold back from the 
work given. So, when she saw John stand- 
ing in a corner, staring at them all, and 
grinning and making faces, she whispered 
to one of the teachers,— 

‘Can I go and speak to that boy ?” 

“ Certainly, my child.” 

So, although modest and shrinking, and 
even trembling a little, she walked up to 
John and gave him an orange, and, in a 
very low tone, so that no one else could 
hear, she said,— 

“What is your name?” 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 31 


“John.” 

‘‘ John, do you love God?” 

There was no answer but a stare. 

“Do you know who God is?” 

MN ial 

“He is your friend. He is your Father. 
He loves you, and wants you to love him. 
Won't you love him?” 

a Ganttes 

‘Oh, yes, you can, John. Don’t you 
love any one?” 

“She,” (pointing to a servant; ) ‘she 
give me crackers; you give me this.”’ 

“Yes; you love any one who gives you 
what you want. Now, God gives you all 
you have, and will give you all you need.” 

“Will he?” 

Yes,” 

‘‘ Where does he live?” 

‘Up there in the blue sky.” 

“Can't.” 


32 GHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


“Yes he can. That is his home; and 
he looks down upon you all the time, and 
can see you wherever you are. And he 
loves you; for he made you.” 

“Me?” 

“Ves: it was God who made you.” 

John stretched out both his hands, and 
turned them round and round. ‘Then he 
looked at his feet; then he passed his hands 
over his face, feeling each feature, and then 
through his hair. Then he shook his head, 
made a grimace, and, saying, ‘I hate 
Him !” ran away. | 

Fannie felt discouraged indeed. Her 
heart went down, down, and her eyes filled 
with tears, as she thought, “Is this all I 
can do? Oh, I ought not to have expected 
to do any thing;”’ and then she murmured 
a little prayer,—‘‘ Father, bless him! Holy 
Spirit, teach him!” 

Ten minutes after, when Fannie and her 


OHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 33 


friends were in another part of the build- 
ing, she saw John standing in a doorway, 
staring at them all. He held one hand 
behind him; and presently, when he saw 
Fannie looking at him, he beckoned her 
with the other, and called,— 

“Come here, you.”’ 

Fannie could not help smiling at this; 
but in a moment she smiled from a differ- 
ent cause,—a sweeter smile. He held a 
rose in the hidden hand, which he drew 
from behind him and stretched towards 
her. 

“Pretty?” 

“Tt is beautiful,” said Fannie. 

“ Beau-ti-ful!” said John. ‘It’s for 
you.” 


“For me! Thank you, John. I shall 
keep it a 4 





She was going to say ‘‘a long while;”’ but 
he started to run away, and she called,— 
C 


34 UHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


“Wait a minute, John: I want to speak 
to you.” 

He turned round and grinned. 

“T do, John. Come back.” 

John stood still: so she went to him in 
the little passage-way. 

‘“ John, God made the beautiful flower, 
and he made it for you and for me, »e- 
cause he loves to make us happy. VJan’t 
you love him for giving us the pretty 
flower ?”’ 

“Did God make it?” 

“Yes.” 

‘And all the flowers,—the beautiful 
flowers ?” 

“Yes,” 

“Oan’t,”” said John, with a shake of the 
head, and an incredulous grin. 

“Why not, John ?” 

“Tm bad; that’s beau-ti-ful.”’ 

‘Now, John, let me tell you something,” 


CHILDREN ’§S HEARTS AND HANDS. 35 


said Fannie, ‘‘The beautiful rose loves 
God: that is why it is beautiful. Now, 
if you will love God, he will make you 
more beautiful than any flower.” 

“Me?” 

‘Yes, you; and you will go to see him, 
and be a flower in his garden.” 

“Tell me again.” 

Fannie repeated what she had _ said. 
John looked himself all over, as he had 
done before. 

“Will he?” asked he. 

“Yes, he will. ‘Take the rose and look 
atit. See how beautiful itis. Look at the 
little yellow things down there, and the 
bright pink leaves. You will be more 
beautiful. You will be God’s own flower, 
if you love him.” 

John took the flower, paket it over and 
over, smelling it, and presently seemed to 
forget that Fannie was there. She lifted 


36 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


up another little prayer, that God would 
bless him, and turned to go away. John 
said, ‘‘ It’s yours: take it. I'll try.” 

“Try to love him ?” 

“To be his flower.” 

‘John, would you like a rose-bush of 
your own?” . | 

ee Yea 

“Will you take good care of it if I 
send you one?” 

GEES.) 

“Well, I will send you one from my own 
little garden, if papa’‘is willing; and you 
must always think you will be like it when 
you die and go to God. Good-by.”’ 

The evening of the next day, Fannie 
same to her father, bringing in her hand 
the choicest.of her roses, and said,— 

‘Papa, I want to send this to John. 
May 1?” 

“What John?” 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 37 


“One of the idiots.” 

“My dear child, what would he do with 
it?” 

‘‘He said he would take good care of it.’ 

‘Did you promise it to him?” 

“*T said if you were willing.’’ 

“You were right there. But I am not 
willing. Go put it back in your garden. 
It is a choice rose, that I value very much; 
and it would perish in no time if you gave 
it to him. Run away, little goosie, and 
put it where you found it.” 

Fannie did run, to hide her choking, 
choking tears. She put the rose back, and 
then went to her room and had a long cry. 
She didn’t pray; she didn’t ask God’s com- 
fort; but she gave way to her disappoint- 
ment, at first feeling angry with her papa, 
saying to herself that he didn’t care to 
have her do any good, and wouldn’t help 
her, and then vhat God didn’t love her 


4 


38 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


enough to let her do any thing for Him. 
These were naughty thoughts, and made 
her very unhappy. By-and-by her father 
called,— 

‘Fannie, will you go to ride?” 

“No, papa.” 

“Not go to ride?” 

_ “No, thank you, papa.” 
: ‘Why, what’s the matter, little bird?” . 
~ said papa, coming up-stairs. 

‘* Nothing, papa.” 

“Why, what red eyes! What is it, my 
darling? The rose,—is that it? Why, little 
one, did you care so much ?” 3 

Fannie said, ‘‘ Yes,’ and looked away. 

‘But tell me, darling: what made you 
want to send it to him? Perhaps I was 
wrong in saying ‘no’ so quickly; but it 
seemed a very strange thing to do. If it 
is the boy you talked to, they told me he 
was very stupid, that they could teach him 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 39 


very slowly, and that the only promising 
thing about him was that he was always 
grateful for a kindness. Now, if he had 
the flower, he surely would not have wit 
enough to take care of it.” 

‘Papa, I have been naughty. I have 
had naughty thoughts about you, and 
about God, since you said he couldn’t have 
the rose. I ought to have told you all 
about it. John wasn’t stupid with me: 
he was full of love for the flower, and 
seemed to catch at the idea of being a flower 
in God’s garden, as I told him he could, and 
said he would try. So I promised him the 
rose; and he seemed so glad and bright 
about it that I am sure he would take care 
of it. And I thought it would do him 
good; for it was the only way he would 
hear about God; and he said he hated him, 
till I told him this, and then his face bright- 
ened, and he seemed so glad.”’ 


40) GHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


‘This certainly does make a difference, 
dear. It may be that this will prove the 
link between his poor benighted intellect 
and God. Sometimes they catch at a 
thing like this, when no other will rouse 
them. We were both wrong, dear. I was 
too hasty, and you were too quickly grieved. 
Let us come down into the garden together 
and see what is there. I would rather 
you sent him a less choice flower at first: 
and then, if it proves that this is a bright 
spot in his poor mind, we will send him 
better ones by-and-by.”’ 


« QOHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDs. 41 


co CHAPTER II. 


) 3 ea 
tool \ If 
(= rot ek the time that Fannie 
Y alia) left the asylum, till the rose 


arrived, John was running to 





5 the windows at every possi- 
eS, % € ble opportunity. One of the 


“YY teachers asked him what he 
(X\n 
& was looking for. 
‘« My rose.” 


‘What rose, John?” 

‘‘She’s going to send it.’ 
“Who ?” 

“She ’t’ was here.” 

‘Did she promise you one?” 


“Yes; and I’m going to be a rose.” 
4# 


42 OHILDREN’S AEARTS AND HANDS. 


The teacher, not understanding what he 
meant, smiled. 

‘What makes you think so ?”’ 

‘She said God made the rose, and if 
I'll love him he'll make me a rose in 
his garden; and a rose 1s beau-ti-ful.”” And 
his face lighted up, and the teacher, touched 
and surprised by the child’s emotion, met _ 
him with ever ready sympathy, and re- 
plied,— 

“Yes, John; if you love him, he will. 
God will make all those who love him 
very beautiful; and if you like best to be 
his flower, he will make you one, I am 
sure.” 

The next day the rose came; and John 
was full of delight. It had several blossoms 
and buds, that would keep it in flower a 
long time. And he sat down and held the 
pot in his hands, smelling and caressing 
them, till one of the teachers called him 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDs. 43 


away to attend to some of the daily duties 
which all are made regularly to perform. 
They gave him a nice sunny window for 
his rose; and, although at first he did in- 
deed not know how to take care of it, 
when one of the teachers told him what 
it needed, he listened with perfect under- 
standing, and from that time it flourished 
as finely as Fannie’s papa could wish. 
This was his one bright and happy spot. 
About every thing else he was stupid and 
melancholy. He could not learn to read. 
He could do no work without being directly 
overlooked. He was awkward and clumsy. 
Often he would not answer when spoken 
to; and, except in connection with his rose, 
he seemed unable to receive any idea about 
God. But when he went to that, he was 
entirely changed. His face lighted up, full 
of love and animation; he would take a 
little stick and loosen the earth about the 


44 OHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


roots, so carefully that he never injured 
them or rubbed the bark; he would bring 
water without spilling a drop. And one 
day, when a teacher showed him that the 
pot was dirty and the leaves dusty, and 
how they could be cleaned, he took a little 
cloth, and washed every speck of mould 
from the pot, and sprinkled the leaves till 
they were bright and perfect. If one 
became yellow, he picked it off directly; 
and when it rained he often took it out to 
have it well wetted. When told about 
God in connection with his rose, he would 
always say,— 

“He lives in the blue sky. I shall go 
there and be Avs rose.”’ 

One day a teacher said to bim,— 

“John, if you take good care of your 
flowers here, perhaps God will let you 
water his flowers in heaven.” 


This was a delightful idea to him; and 


CHILDRENS HEARTS AND HANDS. 40 


.. he often spoke of it afterwards. And now 
he began to grow really carétul about his 
person; for when his teacher told him how 
to make his flower clean and pure, he told 
him, too, that he must try to be so now, if 
he was going to be one of them. And 
from that time he did try; and, with care- 
ful training, and frequent repetition of the 
same lessons, there was, in time, no more 
tidy inmate of the asylum. 

‘“‘God’s flowers must be clean,” he was 
often heard to say; and he would look from 
the plant to himsélf again and again, and, 
if he saw his boots were muddy or his hands 
not clean, he would hurry away and make 
himself perfectly neat. Sometimes, hold- 
ing the pot in his hands, he would talk 
® teat | 

‘Beautiful rose, God made you. I 
‘love you. I shall be his rose in heaven. 

You will go there too, and be more beau- 


46 OHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


tiful than you are now; and I will water — 
you there.” 

One day Fannie’s father said to her,— 

‘T think we must go to see how John 
gets on with his rose.”’ 

And when they arrived, and saw it look- 
ing so finely, and saw John’s love for it, 
and how improved he was, and learned all 
that I have told you, you may imagine 
their joy, and how Fannie’s heart was full 
of thanksgiving. He was delighted to see 
her, and brought her several little things 
that he valued, and then, after keeping still 
some time, he picked a rose and gave it to 
her, saying——- ™ 

“Tt is the first John has picked. John 
doesn’t love to pick them, but for you.” 

Fannie’s father was now as much inter- 
ested as she, and, before leaving, they ob- 
tained permission to send him two or three 
more plants, and for Fannie to come and 


™ 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 47 


teach him what each one needed. This 
delighted him exceedingly, and he clapped 
his hands, and said,— 

“So glad! So glad!” 

And Fannie was glad too, and her face 
grew very, very bright. John looked at 
her as one would at an angel very far away, 
and said,— 

‘“T love you.” And presently,— 

‘‘ Have you seen God ?”’ 

And when they were going, he said,— 

‘“ Don’t go.” 

But Fannie told him she was going that 
she might bring him flowers; and then he 
said,— # | 

‘Yes; come again, with more flowers.” 

The next day, when she brought them, 
—a, heliotrope, a geranium, and another 
rose,—he asked,— 

‘* Did you bring them from God’s garden ?”’ 

‘Oh, no,’”’ said Fannie: ‘‘ they came from 


48 CHILDRENS HEARTS AND HANDS. 


my own little garden. God's flower-garden 
is not in this world. Youand I will neither 
of us see it till we die and go to him in 
the blue sky.” And he seemed satisfied, 
and said,— 

“We shall go there by-and by.” 

Time went on, and with it his love for 
God, Fannie, and the flowers increased. 
Whatever he learned was from his flowers. 
His teachers and Fannie would read the 
Bible to him while working over them, and 
always try to explain it by them; and then 
he always listened and learned. But away 
from them he was the same poor stupid 
John as of old. Fannie taught him to cut 
slips, and how to make them grow, often 
bringing him choice ones from her father’s 
plants. And under his hand they always 
flourished; not one failed. 

And so the winter passed away, and 
John increased his little stock many fold. 


CHILDREN 8 HEARTS AND HANDS. . 49 


They gave him a nice flower-stand; and this, 
placed in a pleasant window, was the sweet- 
est, prettiest spot in the whole asylum, and 
the delight of all. It was wonderful to 
see his skill. He knew much more than 
he was ever taught. It came to him as if 
by inspiration. He would prune and trim 
the little bushes into perfect health and 
shape, and much according to his own idea. 
Every leaf was perfect; not an insect was 
to be seen, not one defective flower. God 
seemed to bless them especially for him. 
And his taste in arranging them was as 
wonderful as his skill in cultivating them. 

And when the summer came, he was 
given a little spot of land, and told to bring 
his plants out-doors, that they might have 
the rain and warmth. The reason of this 
he was easily made to understand; but 
when they gave him little seeds to plant, 
he was only puzzled, and could not com- 

D 5 


50 OHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


prehend that putting them in the warm 
earth would cause them to be flowers by- 
and-by. But he was told to watch, and 
so obeyed, and day after day worked in 
his little bed, and was often seen looking 
at the places with a half-incredulous, half- 
curious expression ; and sometimes he would 
le down at full length and put his ear 
over the spot where the seeds lay hidden. 
What do you suppose he was thinking 
then? That he could hear them talking 
about what they would be, or tsll how 
soon they would appear? Perhaps some 
deeper, sweeter thought than you or I could 
think, and, unknown by us and. forgotten 
by him, is yet not lost, because his guar- 
dian angel has recorded it. 

One morning, after a heavy, warm rain, 
he found the first green leaves’ from the 
seeds; and his exclamation was, ‘“ They 
are peeping! they are peeping!”’ and he 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 51 


danced with joy. But as he found after- 
wards how slowly they grew, he was a little 
disappointed. Then he became more satis- 
fied, and settled down into a sweet, quiet 
contentment in tending them. And when 
the flowers came, his joy was tranquil, and 
his love was like a mother’s for a child. 
The summer wore away, and, with care- 
ful teaching, he had learned much and easily 
about the different plants, their names, and 
how they should ‘be placed and tended to 
srow to best advantage. And all he cared 
for throve as wonderfully as those he had 
at first in-doors, and his bed was very, 
very beautiful. He talked to them, and 
loved God and understood and prayed to 
him by them, and altogether lived in them. 
Always at night he slept with one sweet 
flower in his hand. 
- He touched his plants and picked and 
held the flowers with the utmost gentleness. 


‘2 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


By this he was taught a precious lesson, 
that drew him near to God and showed 
him more clearly how he could rest in 
him. When he first went to the asylum, 
he had been occasionally very passionate 
and violent. A teacher said to him, one 
day,— 

“John, you always touch your flowers 
gently.” 

He smiled. 

‘And Jesus always touches your heart 
gently, because it is his tender flower. 
Oh, he would not, would not touch it 
roughly, any more than you would be rough 
with one of your little flowers, not even 
if it did not grow just right. Think! 
When you find a plant grown crooked, how 
tenderly you turn it back! And so it is 
with him. Hven when you grieve him, 
he is never rough with you, but always 
tender. If you will learn to tead his life, 


CHILDRENS HEARTS AND HANDS. 53 


you will see how he was always gentle; 
and he is just so now,—full of love and 
tenderness and patience to you, as you are 
to your flowers. But there is one thing 
that grieves him in you, one fault that 
you must put away and overcome,—your 
temper, John. Remember that all those 
who love him are his flowers; and when 
you get angry, and say bad words, and throw 
things at people, you are not only getting 
yourself out of order, but you are hurting 
Jesus’ other flowers, touching them roughly. 
Put away your temper, John. ' Be always 
gentle, like Jesus, and remember, when you 
are angry with another person, your rough- 
ness hurts their hearts,—Jesus’ flowers, — 
and grieves the Master who is so gentle 
and patient with you.” 

The substance of this lesson was often 
repeated, and made as plain as possible to 
John’s poor, feeble mind; and at last he 

5* 


54 OHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


grasped it fully, and thenceforth he was 
perfectly kind in word and deed to all about 
him, and often said,— 

“John, never hurt Jesus’ flowers. Touch 
them gently.” 

And his gentle way of speaking every 
word, of doing every deed, was wonder- 
ful and beautiful. And then he began to 
teach what he had learned. One day he 
was seen going to a workman who was 
scolding a boy under him, and, laying his 
hand on the man’s arm, he said,— 

. “Heis Jesus’ flower. Your rough words 
hurt his heart, and that hurts Jesus.”’ 

_ And so, whenever he heard harsh words, 
he interposed, and often saved much bitter- 
ness and comforted many aching hearts. 

Thus by his flowers he learned all he 
had of good. Through them alone he 
comprehended, in his small degree, the 
love of God, and gave his love to him. 


CHILDREN 8 HEARTS AND HANDS. 955 


By them he learned to love his fellow-men, 
to keep himself nice, to be “gentle unto 
all.” 

But, while I tell you all these ae 
about poor John, you must remember he 
was still an idiot. This one bright, lovely 
spot God opened in his mind, making a 
passage to his heart by which he received 
and gave the Love that is Life. But other- 
wise he was unaroused,—not understand- 
ing, not even noticing, other things. So 
that his teachers let him rest in this one 
joy, and ceased to trouble him with what 
he could not learn. 


56 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


CHAPTER IV. 






GZ “o9 WO, three, four, years passed 

Bel away. Occasionally I had 
| : > letters in answer to my in- 
© quiries about John, and from 
them I have gathered what 
I have told you of his pro- 
gress. Now, I was informed, 
he had become a perfect florist,—even sci- 
entific. Nothing he was taught about 
botany had seemed beyond his comprehen- 
sion; and, finding it was so, his teachers 
had given him in this branch a thorough 
education. He had never learned to read; 
and so all instruction came -by word of 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 57 


mouth. But every thing pertaining to his 
precious flowers, that was told or read to 
him, he drank in with a thirsty soul. I 
did not see him during all this time; but. 
at the end of the fourth year, Esther and 
her mamma and I, travelling near the asy- 
lum, made it a point of great interest to 
go and see the boy. I had not heard of 
him for the last six months: and so we 
were surprised to find him gone. It seemed 
shat Fannie’s father came one day and 
offered him the place of gardener, with full 
wages, after three months under the old 
gardener, who was then to leave. 

“You had better drive over there, sir,’ 
said the kind superintendent. ‘‘It is only 
three miles; and they will be delighted to 
see you, especially as you are interested 
in John. They are very proud of him; 
and well they may be,—though a stranger 
might wonder at my saying so.” 


58 OHILPREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


We concluded to go, and, after a charm- 
mg drive, found ourselves at the door of a 
beautiful old cottage, the rustic posts and 
piazzas all covered with lovely vines. In 
front was a wide, sloping lawn, and a beau- 
tiful view of the sea. We rang, and soon 
were received by Fannie’s papa. When 
he heard our errand, he was very cordial, 
and, noticing Esther, sent for Fannie, and 
then we all went into the garden. It was 
a lovely spot, very rich in shrubs and 
flowers and pretty walks and rustic seats. 
As we went on, the girls ran off to John,: 
whom they saw in the distance, while the 
papas walked more slowly, and talked. 

“Yes, sir,” said Fannie’s papa,—‘‘yes, 
sir, he is a wonder, and a Christian, sir, if 
there ever was one. Gentle as a lamb; 
kind to every creature on God’s earth. In 
all his work he never treads upon a worm, 
or hurts an insect, unless they destroy the 


CHILDREN § HEARTS AND HANDS. 5Y 


flowers; and then he says they are God’s 
enemies, and fights them with a zeal. Ah, 
sir! I have watched him from the first, 
and I will say again, he is a wonder. 
Every bit of heart and mind that God has 
given him is in perfect order for his Lord. 
And it is all through his flowers, sir,—all 
through his flowers.” 

‘‘ And your little daughter’s love,’ I said. 

“Yes, yes,’ he said, hastily; ‘“‘but she 
has full intellect, and they both. are God’s 
jewels. Two beautiful lives,—two beau- 
tiful lives !”’ 

I saw John, and talked with him a little; 
-ut in this way I could not reach him much. 

“Ah, sir!’ said Fannie’s papa, after- 
wards, ‘‘you should see him working among 
the flowers, and hear him talk to them 
as if they were his children. You cannot 
understand it unless you happen here and 
watch him.” 


60 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


Still, I was glad I had seen him and 
found him happy, prosperous, provided with 
a good home and kind friends. I felt that 
the work was done, perfected; and it was 
enough. I was quite satisfied, and turned 
to go away, with thankful heart that the 
love of two little girls had saved this boy. | 

“Stay! you must have some flowers,’ 
said our kind host. ‘John, make some 
choice bouquets, and bring them in.” 

Esther ran to me and put her hand in 
mine and pressed it tightly. That tote 
me that her heart was full. 

‘Well, Esther,” I said, ‘‘it is good to see 
this boy, that used to be so wretched, all 
full of love and life and happiness, isn’t it?” 

Fannie’s papa exclaimed, ‘‘ Esther? Es- 
ther? Why, the little girl who sent John 
here was Esther: wasn’t it, Fannie? Wasn’t 
that the name?’ Is this the child?’ he 
said, turning to me. 


UHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDs. 61 


| smiled, and said, ‘‘It is.” 

He held her head upturned in his hand 
a moment, gazed in her eyes, and, saying, 
‘T am honoured in my guests to-day,” 
turned and led the way back into the 
house. Afterwards he said,— 

‘Fannies mamma was not at liberty 
when you first came. I think she will be 
waiting for you now.” 

As‘we approached the house, she stood 
on the piazza. Her husband introduced 
us, and then they urged us to remain and 
be their guests. This we could not do, 
but promised a week after to come and 
pass a day. Then we had lunch; and, 
while sitting at the table, John brought in 
three bouquets. ‘Two of them were made 
alike, of various flowers, arranged with 
perfect taste and grace,—the dark colours 
on one side, and shaded off with lighter 


and lighter ones, until the other side was 
6 


62 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


white, and lovely little sprays of green 
drooped here and there over the whole. 
No one colour offended another; each was 
placed where it showed to best advantage ; 
and, with all this perfectness, he had not 
been ten minutes in arranging them. ‘Then 
there was a third, made only of beautiful 
roses and sweet heliotrope, separated by 
perfect green leaves.. He brought them 
in a little rustic basket he himself had 
made of twigs, most gracefully formed ; 
and when he gave them to us, he said,— 

‘‘Hold them very tenderly. God made 
them. Learn to be like them, fragrant 
with his love.” 

Fannie told Esther, some timeafterwards, 
that he never gave flowers away without 
some word like this. 

It was really hard to go away. Our 
new friends were so warm, and every thing 
so beautiful about us, we could have re- 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 63 


mained with great pleasure. But we had 
other plans, which we could not are 
and so took leave. 

When we were in our carriage again, all 
by ourselves, Esther said no word, but 
turned her head away and wept. Were 
they not holy tears? and did not God trea- 
sure them as gushing from a heart thrilling 
with joy and gratitude and praise? He 
had shown her the perfect fruit of her 
earnest, active love, and the reward was a 
“thousandfold. Therefore her heart flowed 
over. He does not always deem it well 
to do this for those who serve him just as 
earnestly, But be patient and have faith, 
all ye who serve the Lord and his poor 
children in this world, and in time you too 
will see the perfect end of all you do for 
him and them. Only be sure you do your 
work with pure and earnest hearts. 

By-and-by Esther put her hand in mine, 


64 CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


and said, ‘‘Isn’t it beautiful, papa,—too 
beautiful! Can it be true?” 

A week after, we returned. We hada 
charming day, and then left Esther, for 
another week. Fannie’s papa had said, 
‘We must have your child. We must 
have her. Are they not sisters? Is there 
not a peculiar bond between them? Ah, 
you must leave her with us for a little. 
They should know and love each other.”’ 

So she stayed; and she and Fannie did 
indeed love one another, and had seven 
joyful days. Every morning they went 
fresh and early to the garden and watched 
John with his flowers. And once, when he 
did not know that they were near, they 
heard him talking to them, and kept very 
still, and listened for some time. He was 
training some sweet peas. 

“There, there, little one,” he said; ‘don’t 
turn about that way. What made you 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 65 


leave the place I gave you last night? 
Was it the beautiful shower that came 
while I was asleep? Did it beat you down? 
Oh, it only meant you kindness; and you 
must not grieve. You will be brighter all 
the day for the good rain. Now put your 
fingers there, and there, and hold on tight, 
and you will be my prettiest bush of peas 
in the whole garden, soon. There! Good- 
by, sweets. I'll come back by-and-by. 
Now, you little pet rose, what worries you? 
I give you every care, and yet you droop. 
This will not do. You do not blossom 
as you did. -I think there’s something 
bothers you. I think [ll take you up 
and see. So now, little one. I'll be gentle: 
don’t you fear. I’lljust ease you out.”” And, 
saying so, he dug about the pot, and took 
it up; and then, after prying a little between 
the pot and the earth, and knocking it two 


or three times, he turned it gently over in 
E or 


66 OHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


his hand, and so held it that the earth was 
not broken and the roots were scarcely ex- 
posed. He held it so, quite still, a moment, 
and then turned it over, looking all about 
it; and then, seeing a small, round hole, he 
said, ‘‘ Ah, that’s the trouble.” Then he 
laid it down out of his hand very softly, 
with the hole on one side, and stood watch- 
ing. Presently an ugly worm came creep- 
ing out; he’was timid at first, and then, find- 
ing no harm, a little curious to see what 
all this commotion was about; and finally 
he came out entirely. When he was fairly 
exposed, John knocked him with somewhat 
less of gentleness than he had shown 
before, and killed him with one blow, and 
then, taking up the rose again, began caress- 
ing it. 7 | 

‘My poor little floweret, my poor sweet 
rose, no wonder you drooped; no wonder 
your blossoms were less full. Poor little 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 67 


thing! how you wanted to tell me, and old 
stupid John could not hear your sweet 
talk. Ah! when we get to heaven, Jesus 
will teach me how to talk with you; 
but no one knows how to do it here. 
Poor little thing! There! you will hardly 
know that I have moved you; only the 
old worm is gone, and in a little while 
you will feel quite well again, I hope. 
Bless your little hearts,’ he said to some 
forget-me-nots, “how bright you look! 
The shower did you good. Wasn’t it cool 
and nice? And now the sun is so bright. 
Beautiful rain and sunshine Jesus sends us: 
doesn’t he?” 

And so on and on, from one to another, 
with a word to each. It was all real to 
him. He did not doubt that his flowers 
understood each word. And his face was 
so bright and beaming, and his step so 


glad, as he went from one flower to another 


68 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


with his gentle words, that any one would 
know that his -heart was as happy and 
true as any that throbbed in the bright 
sunshine of that morning. Presently he 
went farther on, and out of hearing, and 
the girls left the little rustic seat and 
followed him. Fannie asked him about 
some plants of hers, and then said,— 

“Can you go with us to the woods to- 
day? My’ friend and I are going to get 
twin-flowers; and I will show you what I 
want for my fern-mound.”’ 

John said he had time; and Fannie 
continued:— _ 

‘Well, then, we had better go as early 
as we can; for it will be very warm by 
noon. Come, Esther, let’s run to breakfast; 
and then for the nicest of times in the 
woods,—the cool green woods!” __ 

At half-past eight they were ready to 
start. John carried atin flower-box, 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 69 


waich was nicely arranged for holding 
roots or flowers, and Fannie and Esther, 
with their stout shoes and broad hats, were 
well arrayed for a walk of three or four 
miles, counting the way back. The first 
part of the way was not much in the 
shade; but after a half-mile they began to 
get into the woods, and shortly after that, 
going down a little hill and up another, 
they found themselves in the deep woods. 
Oh, how beautiful it was! The cool 
shade, and sweet, fresh perfume of the 
pines which made half the forest, their 
smooth brown leaves carpeting the narrow 
footpath; the soft green moss on each side, 
and the pretty partridge-vines, with their 
red berries ; the various delicate ferns scat- 
tered everywhere; and now and then beds 
of the trailing myrtle, with its beautiful 
white flowers just tinted with pink. Then 
the sonzs of the birds, and above and 


70 OHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


beyond all the sweet note of the wood- 
thrush, which rang out continuously, with 
its thrilling clearness and beauty. 

‘Oh, Esther! Esther! isn’t it lovely 
here? Wouldn’t it be beautiful to live 
out in the woods? I often think, in sum- 
mer, if I could only sleep out-doors in 
some of the warm nights, and have the 
bright stars look down in my face, and the 
little breezes come to make me cool, and 
then to wake in the morning at three or 
four o'clock and hear the birds all singing 
in the rich flood of song they pour out 
then, and lie and listen and feast upon it! 
[hardly ever wake to hear it, sleeping in the 
house; and it seems so dull to be covered 
with a great thick roof, that shuts out all 
these beautiful things.”’ 

“Tt certainly is the most beautiful time 
of day,” said Esther. ‘“‘Papa says that 


the exquisite freshness and calm and peace 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 71 


of that hour is like something of heaven 
come down to us,—as if it had come and 
touched the earth, leaving a part of itself 
to purify and strengthen it to meet the 
heat and burden of another weary day. I 
think you love all these things just as papa 
and Ido. How I wish he were here now !”’ 

So they chatted and walked on, picking 
here and there little gems of flowers or 
ferns, forgetting almost every thing, only 
inhaling in soul and body the sweet life 
about them. They had gone half a mile, 
perhaps, when Fannie, looking suddenly 
about, exclaimed,— 

“Why, where is John?’ Then, in a 
moment, she added,— 

“Hush, Esther: don’t call. I think I 
know where he is. He always prays 
when he comes out here. He will come 
back in a minute, I guess. There; this is 
the little path that leads to the place where 


72 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


the twin-flowers grow. I'll leave my cape 
right here as we turn in, and then he will 
know when he comes. Now, then, I will 
show you the prettiest little flowers, I 
think, you ever saw. Jam quite sure they 
are in bloom. They always are, the very 
last of June. To think that you don’t 
know them !” 

“T do now! I do now!” exclaimed Es- 
ther. ‘“‘Herethey are. There are just a few 
on the side of the path. You passed right 
by. Oh, they are beautiful !—and so very 
fragrant! Oh, Fannie,’’ she said, holding 
some up and smelling them, ‘‘they are 
more delicate than any flower I ever saw ; 
and not one without its mate,—not one! 
How singular! How beautiful !’’ 

“Yes, they are lovely: such dear little 
things' I knew you would like them. 
But they grow thicker a little farther on: 
there is a great bed of them. I am so 


CHILDREN § HEARTS AND HANDs. 73 


glad you think they are more beautiful 
than any other flowers; for I do, and I 
have said so much about them. Come; it 
is beautiful just over there.” 

When they had gone a few steps, and 
Kisther was looking at the flowers she had 
gathered, Fannie checked her with her 
hand, and then pointed with hex finger to 
a space very clear of all undergrowth,— 
where the large bed of flowers grew, Esther 
thought, though she was too far to see dis- 
tinctly. In front of it John was kneeling, 
one hand holding flowers, and the other 
raised above his head. Fannie and Lsther 
went back a little way, and waited out of 
sight. Presently John called,— 

‘‘Miss Fannie, Miss Fannie. Here are 
lots of flowers.” | 

In a momert they joined him. It was 
very beautiful, The clear space was en- 


tirely shaded -by thick branches above, 
7 


74 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


and below was an immense bed of small, 
dark-green leaves, making a thick, close 
carpet, dotted all over with the most deli- 
cate pink bells. Hach stem had two flowers: 
not one failed in this suggestion of perfect, 
constant love. Tne fragrance was ex- 
quisite and delicate, perfectly in harmony 
with the tender beauty of the flower; and 
Fannie and Esther were in raptures of de- 
hight. Indeed, Fannie, who had feared 
some degree of disappoitment in Esther’s 
appreciation of her pet flowers, because 
she had praised them to such extreme, 
was quite satisfied with her enthusiasm. 
They gathered all they could provide with 
room in the cool box; and then, while John 
went off a little distance to collect some 
ferns and other plants, they sat down on 
a large stone to rest. 

“Tsn’t it beautiful,’ said Esther, ‘that, 
when these flowers are so delicate in form 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 75 


and colour and fragrance, and we admire 
them so much, they do not make us love 
other flowers any less? Papa says no 
two flowers can be compared: we must rest 
in saying each is beautiful. These are 
the beauty of your woods. Ours is so dif- 
ferent,—more of a glory. You should see 
our grove of rhododendrons !” 

‘Grove of rhododendrexs!”’ exclaimed 
Fannie. ‘What do you mean? A grove? 
—-a whole grove?” 

‘““Yes,”’ said Esther: ‘‘did you never hear 
of it? They grow luxuriantly about four 
miles from where we live. There is only 
one other place in New England where 
they grow wild,—in Maine, I believe.” 

“Well, indeed, I am amazed,” said Fan- 
nie. “I thought.they belonged to the 
tropics, and that that is the reason it is 
so dificult to make them thrive with us. 
We had one root of it, but it only blos- 


76 CHILDREN 8S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


somed two years, and died in two or three 
more.’ 

‘Well, you should see ours,” said Esther. 
‘Four or five miles from our house there 
is a thick wood, and after leaving the road 
and walking about five minutes through 
a little, rough footpath, we come to a place, 
damp and very shady, where it grows in 
great masses, and five or six feet high. 
It is superb, and worth any amount of 
trouble taken to see it. I do hope you 
will come some time when it is in bloom,” 


? 


“Thank you,” said Fannie: ‘it would 
be very pleasant. I should be sure to 
bring some away with me. Can it be 
transplanted ?”’ 

‘‘A great deal has been carried away,” 
said Esther; ‘‘but there has been so little 
success in making it grow, that people 
only take the blossom now. I suppose it 
needs just such a dark, damp place, and 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDs. 77 


peculiar soil; and that people don’t always 
understand. But it is superb as it grows in 
the woods; and papa has made some roots 
grow nicely in a little spot near our garden.”’ 

“T should think the little ravine behind 
our house, where the brook runs, would 
do,” said Fannie. ‘It is deep and damp 
and shady.”’ 

“T should think it might,” said Esther. 
“Yes, I do believe it is the very place. 
You must try it some time, and John would 
be sure to succeed with it. But these 
dear little flowers! they are as lovely as 
—oh, what shall I say? They are so 
delicate, so pure! they look so loving and 
gentle, as if they would tell us the sweetest 
lessons from the spirit-land. Oh, Fannie! 
what are they like? or what could be like 
them in all the world?” 

‘Ask John,” said Fannie; as he appeared 
with his hands full of choice ferns. 


7 


78 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


“John, what are these flowers like?” 
‘Nothing here; something in heaven. 
They would tell us if we could understand. 


But we are so dull. By-and-by we shall 


know.” 
“T think I know what they are like, 
even in this world,” said Fannie. ‘For 


two Sundays past, one of the loveliest little 
girls I ever saw has been in Sunday-class ; 
and last Sunday she told me she is one of 
twins, and that her little sister is ill. If 
the little sister is as lovely as she, they 
may well take this flower as the emblem 
of their sweet double life. This afternoon, 
Esther, if you are not too tired, I should 
like to go to see these little beauties and 
judge if they are worthy such a tribute. 
We will take some flowers with us, and I 
believe we shall find them as beautiful as 
our little pink bells. Won't that be plea- 
sant? Will you go?” 


CHILDREN § HEARTS AND HANDS. 79 


‘Yes, indeed,” said Esther. 

‘“‘T am so fond of little children,” Fannie 
went on. ‘‘I sometimes have all that I 
can get together for an afternoon. In 
summer we have grand times out-of-doors; 
and in winter, all sorts of games and nice 
times in the house. And these dear little 
Sunday-scholars of mine, Esther, you have 
no idea how [ love them. I did not tell 
you before that I have a class: did I? 
It is only this summer; and at first I dis- 
liked to leave the one where I was a scho- 
lar; but I do love my little ones so dearly 
now! I suppose, of course, that you go 
to Sunday-school, Esther ?”’ 
~ “Oh, yes, indeed I do,” said Esther ; 
‘‘and we have such pleasant times. I don’t 
believe there ever was a better Sunday- 
school. All the children love so to go. 
I believe they all think Sunday the plea- 
santest day of the week. We have such 


SQ CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


sweet, lively music, and such a dear super- 
intendent, who loves all the children; and 
such pleasant teachers. LHverybody goes, 
young and old; and a year ago we gave 
up the afternoon sermon, so that we could 
have a better time for this, and not think 
it was one thing too much for Sunday, 
and hurry through to get time for dinner, 
or lunch, or whatever one had. Every- 
body likes’'it; and we all feel as if we 
belonged to each other; and the ladies want 
all the little girls that are old enough, to 
go to the sewing-circle, and we have a 
corner to ourselves, and one of our teachers 
reads us pretty stories. You don't know 
how nice it is. It wasn’t always so, I 
assure you. I know the sweetness by con- 
trast. It is all since Mr. Blake was the 
superintendent. Before that, we had old 
Mr. Dennet. I suppose he is good; but 
he used to poke round the school and 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 81 


make it so forlorn just to look at him, and 
never spoke to one of us. All he said 
was to open the school and close it, and 
take the numbers of the scholars, and I 
don’t know what else. At last he re- 
signed; and then we had new life. Mr. 
Blake knows just what the children like, 
and gives them sweet music, and teaches 
them to sing, and comes into the classes 
and talks in the very sweetest way, telling 
us how to be good and love Jesus, and all 
sorts of nice things to do to please Him, 
that we could never think of. Oh, I can’t 
tell you half about him; but he knows us 
all, every little child in the school; and he 
makes the older people like him just as 
well. Now our good minister comes, and 
everybody comes, and all are so happy. 
Don’t you think you would like it, Fannie? 
Some time you must come and see.” 


“Thank you,” said Fannie. ‘I shou d 
A 


82 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


like to, very much, and I am sure it must 
be charming. It is what I often long for ; 
because in our own we have so much less 
time than I like. Now, then, we must 20 
from our sweet flowers: It is hard to 
leave them: isn’t it? But we shall find 
our morning gone, and our walk a hot one, 
if we stay here much longer.” 

As they turned to go away, they heard 
John say, “‘Good-by, sweet ones: we shall 
try to come again.” : | 

Another half-hour, through a path even 
more beautiful than the one by which they 
eame, brought them to the end of the 
woods, and then a little heat and fatigue 
had to be endured in the less shady road 
before they reached home; but the walk 
was one of unalloyed pleasure, and never 
forgotten in any of its details by my sweet 


Esther. 


SHILDREN'’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 83 


CHAPTER V. 


4g N the cool of the afternoon, 
H} when the unfailing, delicious 
sea-breeze came, they started 
for their visit to the little twins. 
Fannie took some flowers 


beautifully arranged in a small 





“glass dish; and the first sparkle 
of delight in the little scholar’s eyes, as she 
opened the door, was so bright and clear 
and easily interpreted as it flashed back 
and forth from Fannie’s face to her hands, 
that it quite satisfied the youthful teacher 
that the welcome given both to herself 
and the flowers was all she could have 


S4 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


desired. Esther was delighted with the 
child; the clear, sweet face, the exquisite 
complexion, the regular features and sunny 
curls, flashed before her for one instant 
like a lovely picture, while they were 
welcomed with a childish grace; and then 
she felt as if a little sunbeam were vanishing 
before them, as she ran almost out of sight 
in eagerness to lead them to ‘‘mamma.”’ 
Mamma was soon made to understand that 
this was the Sabbath-school teacher, Miss 
Fannie, who had promised to come. 

“T told you she would, mamma; and 
how glad we are to see her!” 

“Yes, indeed: it gives us great ‘plea- 
sure,” said mamma. 

“T am so fond of little children,” said 
Fannie, ‘that I am never satisfied with a 
glimpse, but want to know and love them 
altogether. And, as Ella has crept into 
my Sunday-class, I shall give her little 


CHILDREN § HEARTS AND HANDS. 85 


peace till I have stolen a wee bit of her 
heart.” 

“She has given you that already,”’ said 
the mamma; ‘“‘she is delighted with the 
Sabbath-school, and has watched for the 
' visit you promised, with hardly enough 
patience to give you time to come, so eager 
for her little sister to see you; and you 
know that May 1s ill, and cannot share all 
Ella’s pleasure as she used to do. I don’t 
know which is the most tried. Ella, I 
think ; for itis harder always to see a dear 
one suffer, deprived of what we enjoy, 
than it is to endure the illness ourselves.” 

Fannie soon had Ella on her lap, and 
_ was asking her if she might not see the 
little invalid sister, and was telling her 
about her beautiful garden, and that they 
must both come and see it very soon. 
May was out, driving with her papa, Ella 


said; but she would soon be back, for she 
; | 


86 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


was just getting well from a fever, and 
was very weak, and not able to go far. 

‘So that I am sure she will be back in 
time to see you, Miss Fannie, or else I. 
should not half enjoy your visit. Mamma 
and I usually go with them; but mamma ~ 
could not go to-day, and I stayed, so that 
she should not be alone; for we have only 
‘been here four weeks for May, and it does 
not seem like home. She has begun to 
. get well, and it is so pleasant to have her 
out-doors again, though it is ck for a 
little drive.”’ 

“T have brought her some. flowers,” 
said Fannie. ‘‘Do you think she will like 
them? Is she fond of flowers?”’ 

‘Oh, indeed, indeed she is,” said Ella: 
‘and how beautiful! What are they, Miss 
Fannie?” 

‘They are my favourite flower; and I 
think you can guess the name, Ella. Do 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 87 


you see how they grow?” said Fannie, 
taking up two or three single stems, so that 
Ella might see more distinctly. 

“Oh, mamma, see! they are little pink 
bells, and two on every stem. Did you 
ever see any thing so sweet? What do 
you think is the name, mamma?” 

“JT think I have guessed; but Miss 
Fannie wants you to try.” 

“T guess it is fairy-bells,” said Ella. 
‘No? Well, then, I must leave it for 
May. But they might be called that: 
mightn’t they, mamma? They are per- 
fectly sweet; and, oh, mamma,—do you 
hear ?—Miss Fannie says they grow wild 
in the woods, and she can tell me how to 
find them; and if May can only go too 
and see them there, won’t it be charming? 
Oh, here they come now!’ she exclaimed, 
springing down from Fannie’s lap; ‘and 
now you shall see my ray of light, my 


88 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


pearl, my May-flower, my every thing that 
is beautiful.’ 

“Killa! Ella !’’ said the mother; but she 
smiled as the little one bounded off out of 
hearing, as if she was almost pleased with 
the words she reproved, and, turning to 
Fannie, she said,— 

‘The child’s love for her sister amounts 
almost to worship; and I am often puzzled 
whether it.is right to try to check it, or to 
let it have its course. But it is so pure 
and unselfish a love, gushing from an 
ardent nature that loves every thing, crea- 
ture and Creator, that I think it will best 
regulate itself. She adores the Saviour 
none the less for the love which she gives 
the darling May.” 

The darling May was brought in the 
father’s arms and laid upon a lounge,—a 
ray of light, a pearl, a May-flower, indeed, 
as Ella had said. Large, lustrous eyes, 


CHILDREN § HEARTS AND HANDS. 89 


that looked as if beholding something far 
away; the same regular features, clear 
- complexion, sunny curls, that Ella had, re- 
sembling her strongly,—only instead of the 
substantial rosy lip was an ethereal hea- 
venly beauty; and Esther, in telling me 
about it, said that in that first instant when 
the child was laid upon the lounge, in her 
light muslin dress and delicate blue and 
white wrappings, she looked so like a spirit 
from another world, whose eyes were lin- 
gering on things not seen by us, more 
beautiful than we behold, that she could 
hardly believe the child was mortal. 

‘You can imagine nothing like it, papa. 
Knowing what it means when I say 80, 
I do not think that there was ever such 
beauty on earth before, except the One we 
all know was perfect in form and comell- 
ness.” 


The little spirit, however, knew the lan- 
re 


90 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


guage of earth, and was soon chatting of 
her drive, and admiring the flowers. 

“Why, yes, Ella, I think I know the 
name. Don’t you see? they are twins, 
like us, only more beautiful. Twin-flowers, 
or twin-sisters, I call them, Miss Fannie. 
Did you bring them for me? They are 
very beautiful, so different from any thing 
I ever saw before. Itis very kind of you.” 
She went, on with a quiet grace beyond 
her years, while her expression showed the 
peculiar vivacity and enjoyment that be- 
long only to a child. 

Very soon Fannie rose to go. 

“Oh, I have not half seen you- yet. 
Must you go? Have you been here wait- 
ing long? I want to see you longer.” 

“Thank you, dear; I will come again if 
I may, and very soon; but I think you 
are tired, and we will let you rest now. 
If you are well.enough to-morrow evening, 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 91 


ask your papa to bring you all to see our 
lovely garden and our view of the sea. I 
am sure you will enjoy it, and we shall 
soon know each other better, and have 
long chats.” , | 

“Oh, Esther! Esther!’ said Fannie, as 
they left the house, ‘‘I could not stay: 
could you? Did you ever feel such a 
thrill ?—such a presence? She must be 
like an angel, only not strong. Let me 
stop and think,” she continued, sinking 
down upon a shady seat and covering her 
eyes with her hands. ‘I felt as I have 
often thought I shall when I wake in hea- 
ven and see the holy beings and know I 
am near Him. I think it must be partly 
the reason why God doesn’t let us see such 
beauty now: we have not strength to bear 
it. Don’t you know the prophets were 
sometimes unable to bear it when they 
‘saw visions? I have not half made my 


92 GHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


visit. I have not said any thing I meant 
to say ; but I could not help it.” 

The next day Esther left; and the rest 
of the story of the twins I must tell you 
as I gathered it from Fannie’s letters to 
Esther. ‘The first one said that they had 
visited them that evening, as Fannie had 
asked them, and all had had a delightful 
time; that ‘‘mamma and papa said she was 
not any too enthusiastic in her admiration, 
after all,—only one sad thing: they say 
May cannot live. Mamma says she has 
seen that heavenly beauty before, and never 
knew it fail in its prophecy of early death. 
T have told them my first thought in taking 
them the twin-flowers, and they are pleased, 
and have been to gather some.” 

In the next letter, ‘‘ May’s mamma says 
that, before she was ill, one could hardly 
tell the twins apart; that all this ethereal 
beauty has come to her within a little ° 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 93 


while, though her spirit was always perfect 
in loveliness.”’ 

Again :—‘“ They are growing very fond of 
me, and I can hardly bear to be away from 
them. We have such lovely times! Very 
few people talk so sweetly of Jesus, and . 
his love, and all heavenly things, as if it 
flowed so truly through their every-day 
life as a part of it, something neither to be 
forced nor hidden, as it too often is) Why 
should we either shut away out of sight 
our love to our heavenly Father, or make 
set speeches about it, any more than with 
regard to our precious ones here? Should 
the heavenly and the earthly life be sepa- 
rate? Should they not mingle constantly 
inone? Yet some good people make great 
walls between them.” 

‘May tells me her father does not love 
. the Lord. He is a good, lovely man; but 
he says his wife and children are enough 


94 GOHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


for him. He has no room for any other 
great love. It is their one sorrow. May 
says, ‘Pray with us, Miss Fannie. He will 
do it some time, if we are faithful.’ 

‘May is failing. Her parents are bit- 
' terly disappointed, thinking her recovery 
sure here by the sea. I suspect ey caer 
to fear what is very plain to us,’ 

Then there was no letter for three weeks, 
and we all began to be very anxious to 
hear again; for the story of this sweet 
fading flower had won the love of all our 
hearts. Then we had just a hurried line 
from Fannie, saying,— 

“She will not be with us many days; 
and I cannot spare time to tell you any 
thing further now. They have all put their 
love about me, and May begs me so to 
come to her that I am there whenever I 
can possibly be away from other things. . 
Oh, what a precious and mysterious gift 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 95 


this love is to me! When the darling one 
has left us for sweeter comforts, and the 
loss makes leisure time unbearable, I shall 

fill it with telling you many lovely things 
~ concerning her.” 

Another week brought this:—‘ When 
May knew that she was going to die, she 
began to plead with her papa for the one 
longing wish of her heart. 

«Oh, papa, give your May this one last 
wish. Love what she loves. Rest where 
she rests, look up and see what she sees, 
and you will love.’ 

“ «But I cannot, May. My heart is full 
of love now.’ 

_ ** Perhaps that is why Jesus takes me, 
—to make room for him.’ 

«There will be no room made. I shall 
love you just the same.’ 

-**But when you know that he is hold- 
ing me, that he is caring for me, keeping 


96 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


me,—when you think that he gave me to 
you at the first——when you think that he 
has given you all the love so precious to 
you, and, more than that, his own,—you 
cannot, cannot help it, papa.’ 

‘“*T do not know, May. When I don’t 
have you, it may seem different; but I 
can think of nothing else now. I will try 
to do it by-and-by. But I do not know, 
‘May; and I cannot promise what I do not 
know.’ 

‘‘Well, papa, that aint me a little; 
and, if you try, I shall be helping you, and 
asking Jesus what to do; and I think you 

cannot help it.’ 

“That same afternoon she called Ella, 
and said,— 

«Darling, are the twin-flowers faded ?’ 

“<The fresh ones are,’ Ella replied; ‘but 
I have a few pressed. Would you like 
those ?” 


4 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS, 97 


«Yes, please, my sweet sister.’ 
‘When Ella brought them, May said,— 
‘“* You know I am going, darling ?’ 
“*Qh, May, May, yes!’ Ella said, lay- 
ing her head by the side of May’s on the 
villow, and throwing her arm over her; 
‘and I am going to try to be brave, because 
I know it 1s all in love; and 1 do love hum, 
and I know you will be so glorious and 
full of joy. But, May, I must not cry 
before you, and we must not say more 
than I can bear. -Oh, sweetest of sisters! 
oh, beautiful, one great love of my heart! 
oh, my darling, my darling! do you know, 
will you ever, how [love you? Ever since 
I can remember, it has been the same.’ 
‘“*T know it, dearest, and that it is a 
thousandfold more than what I deserve.’ 
“*Oh, no, no, interrupted Ella,—‘ not 
the tenth of what you deserve; for I have 


‘seen that I only could see, or understand, 
@ 9 


98 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


a little part of the great beauty of my un- 
seen May. But, darling, neither have you 
seen, nor can you see, the whole of my 
great love for you. You cannot know how 
I have loved you.’ | 

“Darling, darling, my eyes will be 
clearer soon; and then I shall.’ 

“* You will come near me, May?’ 

“* Yes: I am sure He will let me.’ 

“And, with their arms about each other, 
they lay still a long, long time. May 
thought Ella was asleep, but, looking, 
could see her eyes were open. ‘Then she 
said,— 

«Miss Fannie brought these flowers as 
the emblem of our love and double life. 
Put them back in your Bible, darling, and, 
when I am gone, break off one from each 
stem, and they will still be like us. 

“Then they lay still again a little while, 
and May fell asleep. and Ella watched, and 


CHILDREN S HEARTS AND HANDS. 99° 


thought that even in heaven she could 
hardly be more beautiful. And presently 
the perfect repose of the sleeping face gave 
place to smiles, and then a look of serenest 
peace played upon every feature, and then 
a sort*of rapture spread over all. Pre- 
_sently she stretched out her hands plead- 
ingly; then the rapture faded, the serene 
peace came back, then the smiles, and 
then she slept again as sweetly as a babe. 

‘The next day she said,— 

“*T had a beautiful dream yesterday, 
papa. Come near, and I will tell you. 
Mamma and Ella will not mind my whis- 
pering a little while. I dreamed that I 
had left you, papa, and was lying in Jesus’ 
arms, just as [ le in yours. Oh, the peace, 
the exquisite joy, of resting so, and there / 
At first, I thought, I lay with my eyes shut, 
just in a quiet way, perfectly satished to 
lie still and let him hold me. At last, I 


100 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


thought, I opened my eyes and saw what 
I have so often thought I should not dare 
to look at, because it will be so dazzlingly 
glorious,—his face. And the glory was 
all suffused with such loveliness that I 
could look. And oh, papa, I cantiot tell 
you all. I will not try. And then I 
thought he motioned me to look at some- 
thing ; and I looked, and saw you standing 
here. You were weeping, and looking at 
the poor body I had left, and thought that 
it’ was me. And then I called, and you 
looked up, and saw me for a moment, and 
then saw who was holding me; and then 
your eyes were fixed on him. And I left 
the arms, and came to you, and you seemed 
to know I was coming, and held out one 
hand, but kept your eyes fixed on him, 
as if so lovely, and shaded with the other, 
as if he was too glorious. And | whis- 
pered, ‘‘Papa, you love Him now?" 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 101 


“And you said, “Forever!” and then 
1 went back, and he held out his arms, 
and held me there again.’ 

“The next evening she passed away from _. 
us. All had been said, all had been done; 
and we thought she would fall into a quiet 
sleep, and that we should never see the 
eyes again, she lay so still, with the life 
just ebbing peacefully away. 

“Presently the eyes opened; there was 
a beautiful light, which spread over the 
whole face; the hands clasped, the lips 
opened, and, exclaiming, ‘Oh, mother! I 
see, [ see my Saviour!’ she left us, and 
went up to Him. 


Q¥ 


102 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


CHAPTER VI. 


C= 23 HI next summer Fannie 
HH, came to visit Esther. Esther 
: : > had begged her to come in 
the season of the rhododen- 
drons ; and she came the last 
day but one in June,—that 





was Saturday. On Monday 
the weather was very hot, and they did . 
not think of going to the grove, and the 
next it rained very hard; but the next, 
Wednesday, the third of July, was cool 
and pleasant, the dust well laid, and we 
decided without hesitation, at the breakfast- 
table, to improve the fine weather for ow 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 103 


excursion,-—especially as “the Fourth” was 
a day of resort for all to this beautiful 
spot, and we were selfish enough to want 
the finest specimens of the elegant flowers, 
and as many as we could bring away. 
Kisther’s mamma was too much of an in- 
~ valid to go with us: so Fannie and I drove 
in the pony-carriage, and Esther rode a 
little gray horse that was a great pet with 
us all. We started in good time, taking 
lunch with us, to make a pleasant, long 
day. First, we went merely to see the 
rhododendrons, planning to go on farther 
to a little waterfall half a mile beyond,-— 
the girls to make sketches, and I to read 
a new book; and then in the afternoon we 
would return again, to pick our flowers. 
Esther was so eager that Fannie should 
see the beautiful grove, that she was not 
content without stopping there on the way 
for a first sight of it. We tied our horses 


104 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


at the roadside, and stepped into a little, 
rough, shady path, through which we 
walked about five minutes and then came 
upon this beautiful spot. The wild growth 
of the flower seems more like that of the 
tropics than any thing we have in New 
England. The grove covers about half a — 
square mile in all, judging as nearly as 
possible from its uneven outline. The 
spot is dark and damp from the shade of 
the trees and the wet ground, so that the 
stones, the old logs, and the exposed roots 
of the rhododendrons are covered with 
most exquisite mosses, and delicate ferns. 
of every variety. The plant itself grows 
in great clumps, and four, five, and six feet 
high. The leaves are very large, shading 
the flower much more than in cultivation, 
_yet not concealing the great, pink, cone- 
like buds, which are even more beautiful 
than the flower. I can hardly undertake 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 105 


to describe the enthusiasm of delight with 
which all this was greeted by Fannie, or 
the quiet enjoyment of Esther in witnessing 
her friend’s pleasure. Their expressions 
were somewhat in the style of all young 
ladies of their age,—sensible, however, and 
none the less pleasing to me that they | 
_ pretty much exhausted the finer adjectives 
of our mother-tongue. No, no: I like this 
enthusiasm. 

After a good look at this luxuriant spot, 
we went back to our horses, and rode on 
again till we came to the beautiful water- 
fall. ‘T'wo or three solid farm-houses stood 
looking down on a lovely pond, which had 
been made from the stream for the benefit 
of a remarkably picturesque little mill 
that was placed on the other side. We 
‘left our horses in one of the sheds, and 
then walked along the edge of the pond, 
which was clear as crystal, and very beau- 


106 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


tiful in its. reflection of the many trees 
that grew thick upon its banks, and the 
perfect blue of the sky, and the fleecy 
white clouds. 

Then we passed on over a little, rustic 
bridge at the head of the pond, and a few 
rods more brought us suddenly in sight 
of the waterfall. We felt the luscious 
coolness as soon as we were out of the 
sun, and,’¢limbing over a few rough stones, 
reached Esther’s favourite seat,—a large, 
flat rock which commanded a perfect view 
of the whole scene,—and there we sat down: 
to rest. r 

The fall is about thirty feet in height, 
the water tumbling, foaming over great 
rocks; which render it grand, even though 
the height is not great. Similar rocks 
border its side, and in their crevices trees 
and bushes grow so thickly, and the stream 
is so narrow, that they easily meet above 


CHILDREN § HEARTS AND HANDs. 107 


and form a dense shade. Here and there 
trees have fallen, and lie across the stones, 
sometimes in such a way that the water 
falls over a portion of them, and some- 
times lying above, forming a rustic bridge. 
In both cases they are covered with mosses. 
And then, scattered about everywhere in 
the cracks of the rocks, my favourite ferns 
grow in greatest variety and profusion. 
And the birds add their music to the sound 
of the waters all day long, never seem- 
ing to weary of their songs, as when near 
the dwellings of men. 

Oh, what are the cares of the world, 
when a man may come to such a place as 
this, unchanging in its beauty and its song, 
and listen to the music of its waters as to 
a lullaby ?—when every thing about him 
speaks of God, when nothing intercepts 
His presence, when he may rest in undis- 


turbed communion and yield himself to the 


108 GHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


cepose of His perfect love? It seems to me 
that there, at such a time, if a man does 
love God, the world and the cares thereof 
may be to him as they were to Christ, 
—nothing to disturb his peace, nothing 
to disturb his calm, nothing to turn him 
away from a glorious life in God; only 
something to pity, to work for, to love. 
After rambling about a littie, the girls 
. sat close ‘together and began to sketch. I 
watched them a while, thanking God in 
my heart that two so lovely delighted to 
forget themselves in this sweet service; 
and then I took my book and commenced 
to read. -It did not prove exactly what I 
thought it was,—not altogether in accord 
with the spirit of.the place; and by-and- 
by I put it away, and, lying down, yielded 
myself to unconnected, peaceful thought. 
After a while I pulled a pencil and scrap 
of paper from my pocket, anc, smiling at 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 109 


myself for the attempt, thought I too would 
sketch. ! 
Presently Esther looked up. 
‘Well, well, papa, I thought you came 


to recreate; and I do believe you are 


?? 





writing a 

“Sermon on the decorum of young 
ladies, ages respectively fifteen and nine- 
teen,’ I said, laughing. 

‘‘Oh, do let the sermon alone, and have 
a good time to-day. I don’t believe you 
know half how beautiful it is, or you never 
would think of seribblin 9 away in that dry 
style.” | 

‘Complimentary, my dear!” 

“You know very well what I mean. 
If you could only sketch, it would be worth 
while; but I don’t believe you look at these 
beautiful things once in five minutes.”’ 

“Whatever I-am doing, I give you leave 


to talk to me as much as you choose.”’ 
10 


110 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


“Then I certainly shall, just to spoil 
what is not a legitimate proceeding in such 
a place; though I never could talk much 
when I am sketching. But I must sacrifice 
myself to your good to-day.” | 

We chatted a few minutes, and then 
forgot ourselves, and relapsed into silent, 
absorbed use of the pencil. I thought I 
succeeded pretty well for a first attempt 
from nature, especially as the subject was 
rather difficult for a beginner. So I worked 
on till Esther jumped up, saying,— 

‘‘Come, papa? this is too bad. Do give 
me that unlawful paper, and we will have 
lunch. Let me see what you are doing.” 

I tossed her the paper. 

‘Well, I certainly shall have to beg your 
pardon,’’she said. ‘‘ You have been sketch- 
ing, after all, and have succeeded pretty 
well, too. Look here, Fannie! I believe 
he never sketched in his life before.” 


UHILDREN 'S HEARTS AND HANDs. 111 


Fannie took the paper, and turned it 
over two or three times. 

‘Why, yes, it 7s very good. Which is 
the top?” 

Esther and I burst into a peal of laugh- 
ter; and to this day that sketch of mine 
has been a family joke. No one, not even 
I, could determine, after it once left my 
hands, which was the top and which the 
bottom. 

The day passed pleasantly, and about 
three o'clock we started for our rhododen- 
drons. We each gathered all we could 
carry of blossoms and buds in every stage 
of progress. ‘These we stowed away in the 
bottom of the carriage, and then started 
for home. When we had about a mile 
farther to go, we came to a place where the 
road branched, meeting again very near 
our home. Esther rode to the side of the 
carriage, and said,— 


i 


112 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


‘Papa, please stop a minute.” 

T drew the reins, and she continued,— 

‘Please give me a few flowers, and ] 
will ride round and see old Olive. She 
will like some of these branches to deco- 
rate for ‘Independence day,’ as she calls it. 
You had better go the other way; it is 
more shady; and I will be at home ten 
minutes after you arrive, unless Olive wants 
something.”’ And off she rode, the colour 
in her cheeks a perfect match to the beau- 
tiful pink of the rhododendron-buds. 

‘Who is old Olive, may I ask?” said 
Fannie. 

“An 6ld: servant -in my fotheite family 
many years ago,’ I answered. ‘She is 
very fond of us all, and so delighted with 
any little remembrance. Poor thing! we 
cannot go to her too often; and it makes 
my heart ache that she has so little com- 
fort in her old age. But she is happy 


OHILDREN 8S HEARTS AND HANDS. 113 


almost always, having really the greatest 
comfort one can ask in this life,—a con- 
tented, peaceful mind, perfectly passive in 
God’s hands, receiving all his dealings in 
the most implicit confidence of unwaver- 
ing love.” 

‘Do tell me all about her,” said Fannie. 
“T lke these stories of good old people 
that have always been noble and true.”’ 

‘There is not much to tell,” Isaid. ‘She 
was invaluable in our family. She came 
to us a young widow, with her little child 
Mary, and remained for twenty years, serv- 
ing us with a faithfulness and a. high Chris- 
tian principle which is very rarely found, 
and is an unspeakable blessing to both 
servant and household. When Mary was — 
twenty-four, she married, and begged her 
mother to come and live in her house, which 
was very comfortable. With some reluc- 


tance she consented, as she had infirmities 
H 10* 


114 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


which rendered her incapable of work, at 
times. And there they were, all very 
happy, for nine years, when Mary’s hus. 
band died, causing them great grief, and 
making life far less easy for them,—though 
. they own the house and a little land, and 
Olive has some savings. But Mary goes out 
to work a good deal, and, as Olive is bed- 
ridden with severe rheumatism since last 
wintér, it makes it pretty hard for her. 
But she is very patient; and the oldest son, 
Alick, a nice boy of ten, always stays with 
her when Mary isaway. He is a fine little 
fellow, taking the tenderest womanly care 
of his grandmother and his mischievous 
little brother, four years younger than he, 
-—a sprite that would try the patience of a 
saint. But this is only from his mischief, 
as he is an affectionate little fellow, and 
easily managed when not beside himself 


with fun. We all think Alick quite a 


“\ 


CHILDREN § HEARTS AND HANDS. 115 


wonder; and he is an immense comfort 
to his mother, who already considers him 
quite a stay and staff.”’ 

‘But Olive can’t be so very old, is she? 
You call her old Olive.” 

‘‘No: she is only sixty-one; but Esther 
has always called her so, and I suppose 
she seems very aged to ler, particularly 
as she is so infirm. She almost idolizes 
Esther, my father’s only grandchild; and 
Histher is there a great deal, reading to her 
and doing many little comforting things. 
Now, my fair little lady,” said I, as we 
drove to the door, ‘will you take these 
pinkie posies in to dear mamma, and tell 
her about our pleasant day, while I attend 
to the pony and get my letters?” 

In about ten minutes I was back again, 
and found the fair ones in an ecstasy of 
admiration over the flowers, putting them 
in a great blue wash-tub half full of water, 


116 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


mamma sitting by and laughing, and Fan- 
nie insisting that they must have a good 
drink all night, and not think of being 
arranged till to-morrow. 

‘‘ Now, then, come and sit on the piazza,’ 
I said. ‘It is cooler than it is here. You 
have no adea what a nice breeze there is, 
and not a bit of sun there sirce morning. 
Here, mamma; sit still, and let me roll you 
out, easy-chair and all. You must see 
how blithe the old white-haired fellow is 
to-night, after his romantic day with the . 
young beauties. Hag Fannie used her 
tongue fast enough to tell you every thing 
in these ten minutes? Have you seen 
the sketches?” 

We began to talk it all over, telling 
each detail of beauty and impression, when 
Esther rode by very rapidly, and, I thought, 
_ very pale, all the roses that I saw upon her 
cheeks half an hour before, entirely gone. 


CHTLDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 117 


‘Where can the child be going?” I 
exclaimed, and rushed down to the gate. 

She rode half down the street; stopped, 
spoke to some one, turned quickly round, 
and hurried back. Oh, how pale she was! 
and blood upon her gloves and dress! 

‘“My child, my child, what has hap- 
pened? What is the matter?” I exclaimed. 
“Do tell me.” 

“Tt is Alick, papa. He is hurt, and I 
have been helping him. I think you had 
better get right on the pony and go out. 
T don’t know if he will live. I found the 
doctor right on the street,—thank Heaven! 
and he will be there before you. Don’t 
wait for questions, papa. They need you. 
I will have Mary sent out. It is an artery 
cut. He has bled fearfully.” 

Fannie had come down to the gate. I 
turned to her, and said, ‘‘Take care of the 


child: she looks ready to faint. Get her 


118 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


? 


some water:’ and, mounting the horse, J 
galloped away. The story was briefly this. 
Alick had been mowing the little plot of 
grass—all they had—in front of the house.. 
For this purpose he had borrowed a scythe 
from a neighbour, who told him not to 
trouble himself to return it; as he should 
go by with his cart in the evening and 
would stop and take it then. So Alick 
hung the scythe on the fence, and began to 
weed some flower-beds close by. Presently 
he heard Johnnie’s voice, in a sing-song 
tone,— 

‘Time cuts down all, both. great and 
small. Look out, Alick!” 

Alick looked up, and there was the little 
urchin, looking as much like the picture 
of ‘Time in the Primer as he could make 
himself,—forelock and all,—swinging the 
scythe back and forth, and getting quite too 
near to Alick. Before the latter had time 


CHILDREN S HEARTS AND HANDs. 119 


to see into the dubious fun or to get out of 
the way, the scythe hit his leg and cut an 
artery. Of course Father Time and mischief 
were gone. Johnnie didn’t mean to. Never 
thought he’d hit.. No; mischievous boys 
never do mean to do harm. ‘The little 
fellow was really overwhelmed with grief, 
but knew not what to do, and, rushing to 
poor grandmamma, who was unable to rise, 
could neither make her clearly understand 
what had happened, nor comprehend in his 
turn what she told him to do. She tried 
to call to Alick through the open window, 
to*know how much he was hurt and what 
he had best do; but by that time the poor 
fellow was so faint he could hardly hold 
on to his leg, which he did make out from 
old Olive that he should do. But his 
strength gave way, and he was just fainting, 
when God sent Esther. In an instant she 


had learned what had happened. Taking 


120 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


her handkerchief, she: tied it with all her 
strength tight about the knee; but, finding 
it: was not sufficient to check the fearful 
bleeding, she seized a stick which lay 
close at hand, and thrust it inthe knot, 
twisting the handkerchief tighter than it 
vould have been tied. This had the desired 
effect. And, making Johnnie hold the stick, 
she lifted Alick to his grandmother’s bed, 
found some brandy, mixed it strong, and 
left old Olive trying to revive him. Then, 
mounting her horse, she rode off for the 
doctor at the greatest’ speed. When I 
arrived, Alick was conscious again, though 
still very faint, and the doctor was dressing 
the wound. When he had finished, he 
turned to me, and said,— 

‘Your daughter has saved this boy’s life. 
She had done nobly, and what few girls of 
her age would have had presence of raind 
ta do.” 


UHILDREN S HEARTS AND HANDS. 12] 


I stayed until Mary had been back some 
time, and the doctor had left, and there 
seemed nothing more to do but to com- 
fort poor Johnnie, who was a picture of 
woe. Then I went home, to comfort the 
dear ones there and tell them that all was 
well. | 

There were many thankful hearts that 
night. Isat in my study, close to the open . 
window, looking at the stars, when Esther 
came in for the usual good-night. 

I drew her to me, and she kneeled down 
‘there and watched them with me. 
‘How beautiful they are, papa!” 

‘“Yes; and they seem very near to-night. 
God has been very near to you, my child; . 
and you have done the work he gave with 
the true courage and calmness of a Chris- 
tian woman. May his blessing rest upon 
you richly, Esther, and make you always 


faithful in his love and efficient in his 
11 


122 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


work! Your father’s blessing always rests 
upon you.” 

We stayed very still a while, watching 
the stars; and then, coming a little closer _ 
to me, she whispered,— 

‘‘ Papa, when he gives me some special 
thing to do for him, I feel as if the pierced 
hand touched me. That is what thrills 
me so. I feel as if he had been so near,— 
as if his hand had put in mine something 
to give away for him, and he had touched 
me when he put it there. It is so blessed ! 
so blessed !”’ 

A few minutes afterwards she kissed me 
and went up to bed. | 

The next Wednesday afternoon the two 
sirls went to the sewing-circle, which in 
our cool mountain air is continued through 
the summer with even more success than 
in the winter, when the severe weather 
makes regular attendance more difficult. 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDs. 123 


here is no noise, no weariness; always a 
lively interest, a joy, and a sense of doing 
real good, that make it a recreation. And 
then the reward they haveissorich! Their 
way is to find out about the families of 
some poor ministers at the West, who 
deny themselves life’s comforts from the 
purest love of Christ's work; or perhaps 
some nearer home are selected. They as- 
certain the number, sizes, ages, of the chil- 
dren, and, as nearly as possible, what each 
most needs. Then they cut garments 
accordingly, and for lighter work have a 
basket of fancy-articles, so that those who 
find heavy sewing tedious occupy them- 
selves with various little things. All chil- 
dren who will come are welcomed, and 
given work appropriate to each. After all 
are fairly assembled and the work assigned, 
some one, appointed for the afternoon, 
begins to read aloud. If the book is suited 


124 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS; 


to all, all listen. If not specially fitted to 
interest the little folk, they have a sepa- 
rate room, book, and reader. ‘This continues 
for an hour and a half, with a recess of five 
minutes for change of work, seats, or any 
necessary stir, and generally a new reader. 
Then the gentlemen come in for early tea; 
and in summer it-1s generally served—a - 
great additional charm—out-ot-doors. 
After that, for half an hour, there is sing- 
ing of miscellaneous character, lively and 
pleasant, and always something of praise 
to tne One-beloved; and every voice joins, 
even to the wee bairns. Then, with a bless- 
ing from the pastor, they separate at an 
early hour, before there is any chance. of 
weariness. When the garments arranged 
are all finished, we have a tea-drinking in 
the chapel, admission ten cents, supper 
free, and the fancy articles, more or less 
valuable, arranged on a side-table for sale. 


CHILDREN S HEARTS AND HANDS. 125 


The proceeds, and some few donations, go 
to make up a little purse to accompany 
the box of clothing. And then comes the 
reward that more than repays anv little 
trouble that may have been taken,—the 
letter acknowledging the gift, always 
so grateful, invariably overflowing with 
thanksgiving, every thing just what was 
needed, and the money so unexpected and 
coming in a straitened time. Well, well, 
the dear Lord watches his own; and it is a 
blessed thing, as Esther says, when he gives 
us something to do for them, and, through 
them, for him. ‘Something, my God, for 
thee, something for thee:” that beautiful 
hymn comes to my mind. Perhaps" you 
do not know it. 


‘Something, my God, for thee, 
Something for thee! 
That each day’s setting sun may bring 


Some penitential offering, 
11# 


126 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


In thy dear name some kindness done, 

To thy dear love some wanderer won, 

Some trial meekly borne for thee, 
Dear Lord, for thee! 


“Something, my God, for thee, 

Something for thee ! 

That to thy gracious throne may rise 

Sweet incense from some sacrifice,— 

Uplifted eyes, undimm’d by tears, 

Uplifted faith, unstain’d by fears, 

Hailing each joy as light from thee, 
Maa Lord, from thee. 


“Something, my God, for thee, 
Something for thee! 
For the great love that thou hast given, 
For the dear hope of thee and heaven, 
My soul her first allegiance brings, 
And upward plumes her heavenward wings, 
Nearer to thee.” 


This Wednesday afternoon that I began 
to tell you about was remarkably beauti- 
ful. We had told Fannie all I have told 
you, and she went to the circle full of in- 
terest. Esther said she thonght it might be 


CHILDRENS HEARTS AND HANDs. 127 


out-of-doors, as the day was so fine, and 
the grounds which belonged to the lady 
receiving were very pleasant. And they 
were delighted, when they arrived, to find 
her surmise correct, and chairs and settees 
under the trees, the table placed in a pretty 
spot, the white cloth trimmed with green 
leaves and a few vases of beautiful flowers, 
and every thing arranged in a lovely way. 
Everybody was glad to see everybody; the 
children were merry, the birds sang, the 
fingers were diligent, the books were 
charming,—every thing the colour of rose 
to my old, partial eyes. The little folks 
wanted me to read to them, and Esther 
and Fannie flattered me by calling them- 
selves little folks and coming to listen to 
the sweet little tale assigned to them. 
Sometimes they laughed, sometimes they 
wept; and when it was ended, all said, 
“How beautiful!” Then the very little 


128 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


ones were taken aside,—I say not by 
whom,—for a little frolic of ten or fifteen 
minutes; and gradually they were joined 
by the whole circle, and everybody grew 
young, and thought they were children 
again, I believe. And then, after a simple 
repast, we sang praises to our Father, and 
went bome with joyful hearts. 


CHILDREN § HEARTS AND HANDS. 129 


CHAPTER VII. 


fe / ANNIE was perfectly charmed 


with the sewing-circle. 





“T wonder how it would 
do for me to get our children 
together so?” she said. “I 
dh never could undertake the old 

ICQ 3 folks, they are so stiff and 
formal at home: I should like to wake 
them up and show them how to unbend 
and be happy, though; but I never should 
undertake that. But the little ones, I think, 
I might manage,—my own little girls at 
Sunday-school are so lovely, and if I began 
with them the rest might come in. What 
do you think, Esther ?” 

I 


130 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


They talked it over. Fannie grew 
earnest, and, before she left, was quite de- 
cided to begin in a smal] way with her 
own little pets, sewing, perhaps, for some 
poor child in their neighbourhood, and then, 
if God's blessing was upon it, it would 
grow to something of larger size. When 
she left us, she went for a visit to some 
other friend, and after that, returning home, 
went right to work to commence her little 
plan. Her scholars numbered seven, from 
ten to twelve years of age. They were all 
pleasant, amiable little girls, very fond of 
their teacher, and never happier than when 
at Sunday-school. Fannie had a little 
plan of her own in conducting the lessons 
of her class. After the general exercises 
at the opening of the school, she turned to 
her girls, and, sometimes giving a pleasant 
word or inquiry to each, sometimes a gentle 
salutation full of loveliness, she reverently 


CHILDREN § HEARTS AND HANDs. 131 


opened her precious Bible. Holding it 
half. closed in her hand, she would repeat 
with them, in concert, a verse of Scripture 
which she had selected for their motto 
during the previous week, and, hoping they 
had all remembered and been aided by it, 
she would repeat one for the week follow- 
ing, telling them where to find it, and ex- 
plaining its meaning and how they could 
be guided by its teaching through the week. 
Then they would repeat, in concert, a few 
verses of the New Testament, or a Psalm, 
that all had learned for that day. And 
then, unless she had some special thing to 
say to them, they took up the lesson of 
the day. First they read through the 
passage embraced in the lesson, each read- 
ing one verse, and then Fannie commenced 
asking the questions from the book, often 
asking others, and giving anecdotes and 
~ illustrations full of lively interest. So all 


T 


132 CHILDREN’S HEAKIS AND HANDS. 


were occupied and full of interest until the 
school was closed, the bell always sounding 
too soon for Fannie and her pupils. 

The first Sabbath after her absence, she 
received a warm welcome from her little 
ones. Of course there were various greetings 
and questions; and then, when all had been 
said, and verses recited, Fannie suggested 
her plan. She told them what she had 
seen and heard of our little sewing-circle, 
—of the pleasure all derived from the work, 
and the joyful result, and how the children 
being there, even some very little ones, 
had suggested to her the idea that they 
might meet together and do some good. 
Then she spoke of the pleasure that came 
from doing something for Jesus’ sake,— 
trying to comfort some poor child of his, 
less blessed than themselves; how there is 
no joy like it im all the world; and it 
would be very pleasant to her if they would 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. lod 


come to her in this way and learn to taste 
the blessedness of doing good. She would 
not ask any of them that day to say if 
they would or would not come to her once 
a week for this. She would rather they 
would think about it till the next Sabbath, 
and consider if they would really be will- 
ing to come regularly for two hours every 
Saturday, and in the mean time she would 
be planning more positively for whom they 
chould sew. ‘Their faces looked bright, as 
if they liked the plan; but she gave them 
no chance to say a word, taking the ques- 
tion-book and going directly on with the 
lesson. 

The next Sabbath, when they met, she 
went on so quietly with her first exercises 
that they wondered if she had forgotten 
all about the little sewing-circle. But no, 
indeed! When all had been done as usual, 


and they were ready for the lesson, she 
12 


134 CH_LDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


asked each one what they had decided 
about her plan. All consented, excepting 
one. 

Fannie said, ‘‘ This pleases me very 
much. I thought perhaps not more than 
one would be willing; and only one holds 
back. And perhaps even Mary, when 
she sees the enjoyment I feel sure we shall 
have, will like to come. I would like to 
have any of you ask any little friend to 
jon us. The more that come willingly, 
the better. I shall welcome all whom you 
may like to bring. There is a poor woman, 
a widow with three children, who lives in 
South Street; and I think we will begin 
with making some clothes for her little — 
girl, four years old. The little thing is very 
destitute, though her mother does all she is 
able to make them comfortable. She is a 
good woman, whom my mother has known 
for years; and I feel sure that, in doing 


CHILDREN S HEARTS AND HANDS. 135 


something for her, God will bless the work 
‘of my dear scholars’ hands.”’ 

So the next Saturday they commenced 
their labour of love. Esther heard from 
Fannie now and then. After two or three 
weeks, every thing progressed well, and 
Fannie had commenced reading some little 
stories to them while they sewed. But 
this she found rather difficult, as she was 
often interrupted with questions about the 
work. Then, later, she wrote that several 
other little girls had joined them through 
the invitation of her own scholars, who 
were getting quite enthusiastic about their 
work, sometimes taking it home to sew 
upon through the week. And at the end 
of two months the little wardrobe was 
completed. The day it was finished, Fan- 
nie told the children that she wanted them 
to come as usual the next Saturday, but 


that they need not expect to sew. The . 


136 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


work was done, and, if they were willing to 
continue the sewing-circle, she would tell 
them on that day what she proposed they 
shoulddo. But her plan for the next meet- 
ing was a little lighter than usual. She 
proposed to ask the poor girl for whom 
they had been sewing to come with her 
mother and receive the things, and then 
Fannie would give them all a little tea-party 
out-of-doors. Moreover, she wanted them 
to ask any young friends who belonged to 
the Sabbath-school, or any others, to come, 
that they might witness the pleasure that 
they had in doing good, and perhaps more 
might be induced to join them, seeing their 
happiness and how happy they made the 
poor child. 

When the day arrived, Fannie first made 
arrangements for her rural supper in a 
lovely grove close by the house, where 
they had often sat while sewing. Then 


CHILDREN § HEARTS AND: HANDS. 137 


she received the mother and the little girl, 
and together they dressed her in some of 
the pretty new clothes, and Fannie curled 
her soft, wavy locks, and the child was 
really beautiful, and, though full of wonder, 
she was radiant with happiness. Then the 
children began to come,—one, two, four, ten, 
fifteen, twenty, even twenty-two,—more 
than Fannie had imagined would possibly 
come. Her own darling class, and the few 
who had joined them in sewing, were beside 
themselves with delight, charmed with the 
occasion, and with the appearance of the 
little protégé; and the others looked on in 
wonder. They could scarcely believe that 
this was the work of their hands, and danced 
about the little girl till she was fairly be- 
wildered. Some of the girls who had 
never been there before said that they did 
not believe the others had really done all 


the work; they might have done a part, 
124 


138 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


but they guessed Miss Fannie had done 
most. One of Fannie’s scholars answered,— 

‘“What makes you think so? To be 
sure, we haven't done a great deal any one 
day; but then, Miss Fannie says, so much 
is accomplished by a little done regularly. 
And she told us she did nothing but the 
cutting.” j 

‘Did she sit and do nothing while you 
sewed ?” ’' 

‘No, indeed! that wouldn’t be like 
Miss Fannie. She had a deal to do to keep 
us all going, I can tell you. And you 
never could guess what she did the rest of 
the time, to make it so pleasant for us all. 
So I will tell you. She read to us the 
prettiest and best little stories you ever 
heard. I wonder where she could have 
found them? They were so much better 
than any stories I ever read.”’ 

Fannie's papa and mamma were there 


CHILDREN ’8 HEARTS AND HANDS. 139 


evo, enjoying the scene, and winning their 
way to the children, so pleasantly that one 
of the girls,—not very mannerly, I confess, 
—who had wished ‘‘those old folks would 
keep away,” afterwards said she was glad 
she had not her wish, ‘‘for it was the best 
part of the whole to have them there.” 
Then there was a young lady friend ol 
Fannie’s, a teacher in the Sunday-school, 
who had promised to help her in future, so 
that one could read and one attend to the 
work. When the children had had some 
games, and their supper had been served 
from a round table and snowy cloth under 
a great elm-tree, Fannie gave each one 
present a lovely bouquet of flowers which 
John had made. ‘Then the poor girl and 
her mother disappeared, bearing their bun- 
dle, with happy, grateful faces; and then 
Fannie spoke to all, and asked how many 
would like to join the girls’ sewing-society 


140 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


Eighteen out of the twenty-two present 
would like to come. Then Fannie told 
them that a week from that day she would 
be ready for them,—that she was not yet 
quite decided for what they should work, 
but she had in view what she thought 
would prove a pleasant plan, if they were 
able to carry it out; that she had not yet 
been quite able to arrange it, but by the 
time they met again she would be ready 
to make it known for their approval. Then 
they all went home, after singing one of 
their sweet Sunday-school hymns; and they 
certainly carried away hearts far lighter 
and happier for having begun to taste the 
peculiar, precious joy of doing good. 

‘T never thought it would be such fun 
to sew, said one. 

‘Nor I,”’ said another; ‘‘but then Miss 
Fannie has such a way of doing things.” 

“T never thought before that I could do 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDs. 141 


any thing good. I thought I wasn’t old 
enough,’’ said one who belonged to another 
class in the Sabbath-school. 

“Oh, you wouldn't think so if you were 
in Miss Fannie’s class,” said one of her 
scholars, who loved her dearly. ‘‘She tells 
us how the very least children can do good. 
She says no one’is too young to do some- 
thing for Jesus every day,—-to speak a 
kind word, to give away a toy to some 
poor child, or to help an old person in their 
work; and, if any thing don’t seem to turn 
up to give us a chance of doing some real 
thing for some one, she says if we will 
only make our own ways and faces bright . 
and gentle and happy, that we shall carry 
a sunshine with us everywhere, that will 
do everybody good without our know- 
ing it.” | 

“Now, Ella Dean,” said the girl who 
called Fannie’s papa and mamma the old 


142 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


folks, ‘‘I think that’s quite a sermon. 
Can't you give us some more?” 

' Yes, I can,” said Ella, brightly, nothing 
daunted by the jeering tone. ‘‘She says 
that no one is too young to do good or be 
good; that any one can be a Christian from 
their babyhood, if they are rightly inclined 
and rightly taught; that-Jesus loves and 
keeps the little lambs that grow right up 
in his fold, even better than those that 
wander off and then come back again. At 
any rate, they needn’t wander off; and then 
they grow up loving him all the time. 
You had better come to the sewing-circle 
and learn to know Miss Fannie and her 
sweet ways, and hear the lovely stories she 
reads us about these things. You'll think 
better of it and come, won't you, Alice ?” 
(for this was one of the girls who had 
refused to come.) ‘‘I’m sure you'll like 
it. We have real nice times; and it’s so 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDs. 143 


pleasant to know that it is all to make 
some one happier and more comfortable 
than they would have been if we hadn’t 
taken a little pains.” 

‘Well, you may like it,” said Alice; 
‘‘but, for my part, when Saturday is my 
only holiday, I’d rather do something else 
for a good time.” 

‘That is as one feels,” said Ella; ‘‘ but 
I never enjoyed any play half so well, and 
I never had such bright Saturdays. Per- 
haps you'll think so too, sometime.” 

Fannie's partly-arranged plan had been 
formed in this way. About ten days before 
the little tea-party, a friend of her father’s 
came to visit them. He was a clergyman, 
and was to preach for them the next Sab- 
bath, their pastor bemg away. The two 
gentlemen were walking in the garden one 
evening, and Fannie’s papa had been tell- 
ing Mr. Barnard about John. Then they 


144 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


spoke generally of the extreme tenderness 
of God’s providence, and then, further, of 
its mystery in many cases, and how never 
until the day when all things shall be made 
clear can we understand why he so sorely 
tries some who are most faithful to him. 
Speaking so, Mr. Barnard said,— 

‘We have an instance of this at home, 
One of our village boys grew up as lovely, 
pure, and/noble a character as one ever 
meets. He seemed pertectly spotless. He. 
studied for the ministry, married, and was 
settled over a large country parish. He 
had four children,—the oldest and young- 
est boys, the others girls. His salary was 
comfortable, but no more than sufficient to 
make the two ends meet. Of course he 
laid up nothing. He had preached during 
fifteen years, when, a few months ago, he 
was stricken with paralysis. Since then 
he is utterly unable to do any thing. His 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDs. 145 


people made him a present of two thou- 
sand dollars, and he came back, with his 
family, to his native village. There, with 
one thousand dollars, he bought a small 
house and a bit of land. The rest of his 
money he put out at interest, and, depend- 
ing upon his boy of fourteen to raise what 
he could upon the land for the supply of 
the family, settled down in the sweetest 
faith for the Lord to provide the rest in His 
own way. And then God took away his 
boy. And now what are they todo? His 
townsmen and his old congregation do 
something for him; but he is very poor. 
Is it not strange, strange, and full of 
mystery ?”’ | 

Fannie heard all this. Next morning 
she drew Mr. Barnard aside, and asked,— 

“That minister and his family that you 
were telling papa about last evening: are 
they very refined people ?’’ 

K 13 


146 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


“Very, my dear. Why do you ask ?’ 
said Mr. Barnard, smiling. 

“Twill tell you,” replied Fannie. ‘‘ Our 
Sunday-school has a little sewing-society 
of the children, and they are just getting 
through with the work on hand, and not 
quite decided what to do next. Last night 
I was in the arbour, reading, and heard 
you tell this story ; and I am so filled with 
the impression that God meant me to hear 
it, and that we should do something for 
them, that I must ask you. Do you think 
they are too refined, would be too sensitive, 
to let us do something for them.?” 

‘My dear child, you mean to ask, Have 
they too much false pride? I answer, No! 
They are true, humble followers of Christ: 
and any such, however refined and culti- 
vated and used to independent living, will, - 
if need be, receive any thing that is offered 
in Christ’s name with gratitude and a de- 


CHILDREN S HEARTS AND HANDS. 147 


light in feeling that it comes directly from 
his hand. I am sure, Fannie, with you, 
that God meant you to hear about them ; 
and I am grateful that even my tongue has 
thus been of use. Go to work for them, if 
it pleases your little sewing-society, and I 
am sure you will have the Lord’s blessing.” 

Fannie’s heart was full. She felt sure 
that Christ gave her this work to do; she 
felt as if it were a token that he approved 
and blessed the task she had undertaken. 
Her first step, after thanking him and seek- 
ing his continued blessing, was to write a 
note to Mrs. Willard, saying that she had 
heard Mr. Barnard tell the story of their 
sorrow, and asking her permission to let 
the little girls send a few things to her chil- 
dren by-and-by. This she sent by Mr. 
Barnard, and eagerly waited for the reply. 
It came two or three days after che tea- 
party, full of sweetness and gratitude and 


148 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


appreciation of the delicacy of Fannie’s 
note. So then her heart was more than 
ever glad. She wrote another letter, to ask 
the sizes and ages of the children. The 
next question was funds. They must have 
more money. When they first commenced, 
each little girl had paid ten cents for 
membership: some had given more, and 
Fannie and others had given materials. 
But then it took very little to make a 
wardrobe for one little girl of four years. 
Now their plan was larger. What should 
they do? She talked it over with her 
mamma, and the young friend who was to 
help her in the care of the children. They 
would each give something; and then a 
new tax for membership would bring a 
trifle more. Fannie said she would ask 
help from one or two friends, and some 
materials might be given for making over. 

At the first meeting of the children there 


CHILDRENS HEARTS AND HANDS. 149 


was little to do. Fannie told them her 
plan; and all approved. She said there 
could not be much sewing that afternoon ; 
that, with the little taxes, they had ten 
dollars for a start; during the coming 
week she would buy materials, and on the 
next Saturday would have work cut out 
for all. Then she proposed that a little 
box should stand always in the room where 
they met, and any one inclined could drop 
a contribution there, should it be but a ~ 
penny. Then she produced a book that 
Esther had sent to her to read to them, 
called ‘‘ Ministering Children,’’—a lovely 
story, that ought to be in every library. 
She read half an hour, and then they went 
home, delighted with the commencement 
of the book, and full of interest in the new 
work. 

So it began; and the interest increased 


rather than diminished. They were more 
134 


150 GHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


and more delighted with the book; and one 
day, at. the proposal of a little girl, they 
named themselves ‘‘The Society of Minis- 
tering Children.” Then the parents and 
some of the Sunday-school teachers began 
to come to see them work; and one day 
one of the older girls, laughing, said these 
visitors must be reminded that they could 
do something besides look, and approve, and 
say, ‘‘ Very good;” and she took the little 
contribution-box, and, hanging it on a con- 
spicuous part of the wall, printed upon it, 
in large letters, ‘‘ Contribution-box of the 
Society of Ministering Children.”? This had 
the desired effect; and almost every one 
who came dropped something in, and others 
sent materials for work. Other scholars 
from the Sunday-school joined, and a few 
who belonged elsewhere, among them Alice, 
and the one in Fannie’s class who at first re- 


fused ; and two or three more lady teachers 


CHILDREN §S HEARTS AND HANDs. 151 


came in regularly to help Fannie and Miss 
Blake, as they found the care too heavy 
for their hands alone. Then Fannie wrote 
to Mr. Barnard, telling him how wonder- 
fully they were prospering, and that, having 
more than they needed for the children, 
she wished Mrs. Barnard would try to find 
out what would be acceptable to Mr. and 
Mrs. Willard in the way of clothing, and 
give her some hints how best to work for 
them, too. Then she began to have an 
idea of a little tea-party, like ours, when 
the sewing should be finished and the box 
ready. How delightful it would be to 
have a little table of fancy articles and 
add a purse to the other things!—a thing 
she had not thought of before, because er 
first plan seemed quite as much as was 
practicable. But the success was so much 
greater than her hope, that now she thought 
she might do more. When she suggested 


152 CHILDREN’S. HEARTS AND HANDS. 


this to the children, they were delighted 
with the plan, and worked with new in- 
terest ; and so, in time, many pretty things 
were made. God’s blessing seemed to rest 
upon the work, and every thing progressed 
satisfactorily, 

All this time Fannie had carefully con- 
cealed the name of those for whom they 
worked. She’told the children and in- 
quiring visitors about the family, the sad 
story,—all that she herself knew; but her 
nature was strongly sympathetic, and she 
shrank from giving a publicity to the names 
of these dear children of God which she 
felt would be painful to herself in the same 
circumstances: so that no one knew the 
names of the Willards, nor where they 
lived, excepting herself and her friend Miss 
Blake. 

Aside from the work accomplished, and 
the love of doing good inspired in the chil- 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 153 


dren, there were other unexpected fruits of 
Fannie’s labours, which excited still more 
her gratitude to God for using her in this 
sweet service. One afternoon she noticed 
that Alice kept on sewing after the other 
girls went away, and she asked if Fannie: 
would let her wait while the things were 
gathered up, as she wanted to finish a seam 
she was sewing. annie said, ‘‘ Yes;”’ and 
presently they were alone. 

Fannie said, ‘It is a great pleasure to 
have you join us, Alice; and I think you 
love the work as well as any of the chil- 
dren, now. Certainly you are the first 
who has wanted to sew longer than the 
regular time; though some have taken the 
work home.” 

Fannie was surprised and touched to see 
Alice’s tears flowing fast as she bent over 
her work more closely, and answered,—_ 

“There is something in it all,—I don’t 


154 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


know what it is, Miss Fannie,—in the work 
or in the reading,—it all makes me feel 
so strange. I love to come; and yet I am 
not happy. I want something; I want 
something.’’ 

‘You want the peace of the Lord Jesus 
abiding in your heart. You are restless for 
that, I think.” 

“T don’t know, Miss Fannie. I think I 
want to be like you.” : 

“That would not satisfy you, Alice. 
There is one example given us, and God 
has made us so that we can never be con- 
tent unless our hearts are looking up to 
Jesus, seeking his love and giving him ours, 
striving then, in the faithfulness that only 
love brings, to do and be like him. You 
must read his words; you must study his 
life; you must seek the peace he has pro- 
mised to his followers.” 

‘‘ How can I do it?” 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 155 


‘Go to him, as you come to me,—only 
more fully. Open your heart to him; pray. 
Let him in, and’ he will show you all the 
rest. The Holy Spirit is touching your 
heart, Alice. Pray him to show you your 
need of peace, and the way to it.” 

‘T will, Miss Fannie; and I thank you 
for your kind words. Will you pray for 
me?” 

‘“Yes, Alice; and do the same for your- 
self, and then all will be right. As the 
body needs food, the soul needs prayer. 
Lift up your heart continually to God, and 
you will have life.” 

After this, Fannie talked with Alice 
many times, and watched her very closely. 
The uneasy look gradually gave way to 
one of rest and joy. Then came an ex- 
pression of sweetest peace; and now, at 
this diy when I write, Alice’s countenance 
is one of those rarely seen, so unmistakably 


156 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


suffused with the loveliness of Christ that 
a glance 1s sufficient to recognize in her 
one whose heart is his abode. And she is 
not the only one thus influenced by this 
little meeting where the love of Jesus is 
the motive and the theme. Others were 
touched and led, as she was, ‘by the work, 
or the reading, or a something, they knew 
not what;” and still, at this day, while the 
Society of Ministering Children is busily at 
work, Fannie writes that the little ones 
come to her to ask the way of life. It is 
a blessed work, a blessed spirit, a blessed 
result. of obeying the command, ‘“ What- 
ever thy hand findeth to do, do it with 
thy might.” 

The middle of December came. The 
work was almost finished. Fannie wanted 
to send the things for a Christmas-gift; but 
it seemed almost impossible to do it, espe- 

cially as she wished to have the little tea- 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 157 


party and must take time to arrange that. 
But the children said they would come an 
extra afternoon, and then, working on the 
last Saturday before Christmas,—which 
came on Wednesday,—they thought they 
could accomplish it. They planned their 
tea-party for Monday night. Their fancy 
articles were tasteful and very beautifully 
made. The girls had grown warm with 
zeal, and many had made pretty things 
at home. Some had arranged sea-mosses, 
others little baskets of coloured lichens; 
and one little girl, who had great skill in 
pressing ferns and coloured leaves, brought 
a little fancy basket full of these. Then 
some one proposed making some wreaths 
for sale; and when Fannie went to John, ask- 
ing him to get the greens, and telling him 
what they were for, he said, ‘‘ Miss Fannie, 
could not I make some bouquets to sell, 


too ?”’ 
14 


158 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


“Why,” said Fannie, ‘‘that is charming! 
I never thought of that. I will ask papa 
if we can have the flowers; and, if he is 
willing, yes indeed you may. It is a de- 
hehtful idea, John. You are the brightest 
of the whole of us.” 

‘“My dear,”’ said Fannie’s papa, ‘‘you 
are welcome. John may strip the green- 
house, if he will. I refused you a flower 
once, but [ shall never do so again.” 

At first Fannie could not think what 
her father meant; then she exclaimed, 
‘Oh, papa, you don’t remember that, do 
you ?” . . 

“T shall never forget it, my darling.” 

Fannie wrote to little Ella,—the broken 
twin-flower,—inviting her to come for the 
occasion. She was a great pet of Fannie’s, | 
and had often been to visit her since their 
first acquaintance. The week before Christ- 
mas she arrived, very lovely, very beauti- 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 159 


ful. The next day, when Fannie was in 
her room, telling her all about her arrange- 
ments, Ella went to her trunk and took 
out a bundle. 

“Mamma said, if you thought this 
would be of service to your friend, she 
would be glad to have you put it in the 
box. It is a cloak she had last winter, 
and she has no more use for it.” * 

“Oh, Ella, Ella,” exclaimed Fannie, 
“you could not have brought any thing 
more acceptable! Oh, it is just the thing 
I wanted, and so nice! Mrs. Barnard wrote 
me that Mrs. Willard needed out-door gar- 
ments, but she only mentioned it because 
I begged her to tell every thing, and said 
that we would do what we could. She 
did not imagine our little girls would 
be able to do any thing to supply that 
want; and now it has come, just because the 
Lord knows she needs it; and I dare say 


160 CHILDREN’S HEARIS AND HANDS. 


she has been praying for it. Oh, Ido thank 
you so much. There! I do believe, when 
our box is off, we shall be the happiest 
_ young folks in the land. Now come down 
while I show this to mamma; and then 
you must see the things we are making.” 
Every thing went on better than Fannie 
dared to hope. On Saturday all was fin- 
ished,—and well done, too, considering the 
little experience of many of the little hands. 
There were garments for all, even down to 
the little boy of three years old, besides 
two pretty suits of blue flannel clothes; 
and then two dresses each for. the girls. 
For Mrs. Willard, besides other things, there 
was one new dress, and Fannie’s mamma 
had given a beautiful soft wrapper. For 
Mr. Willard there was also a dressing-gown 
of warm gray cloth, the material for which 
had been sent in anonymously. So that 
the box was very complete. Almost every 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 161 


things had been packed that last Saturday 
morning, and when the last things were 
finished, and the children gone, Fannie’s 
papa put in the rest. That was a joyful 
hour; but Fannie was tired, the things 
must be cleared away, the tea-party was 
yet to be accomplished, and she waited 
yet a little for the feeling that the work 
was done. 

On Monday morning the children and 
teachers met in the church-chapel, some to 
tie greens, some to arrange tables. The 
children were merrier and happier than 
ever, and vied with each other who should 
make the prettiest wreaths. The mammas 
were interested because the children were, 
and dainties came pouring in for the supper- 
table. This was very long, and placed on 
one side of the little chapel, and was taste- 
fully trimmed with green leaves sewed on 


the edges of the cloth and scattered around 
L 14 


162 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS, 


the plates, and three large vases of laurel 
beautifully arranged. Opposite was the 
table for the Christmas greens,—wreaths, 
crosses, and long straight bunches for 
placing over pictures, all intermingled and 
enlivened with the berry of the bitter- 
sweet, our substitute for holly. Then at 
the farther end were two smaller tables, one 
for the little fancy affairs, and the other 
for John's flowers. The latter was the 
pride and delight of all; and as Fannie 
saw how many flowers John had brought, 
more than she thought possible, and noticed 
the exquisite taste with which .he had ar- 
ranged them, she felt no further doubt of 
the complete success of her little enterprise, 
which had grown so much beyond her 
thought. Besides the pretty mosses and 
baskets already mentioned, the fancy table 
was also tastefully arranged with various 
crocheted, knitted things, which an old 


‘CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 163 


man such as I can hardly be expected to 
describe. And then tnere were transpa- 
rencies of crosses and heads, beautifully cut 
in bristol-board; and the crown of all this 
child-skill was a contribution of little Ella’s 
which touched Fannie exceedingly. It was 
a painting of a basket of twin-flowers in 
- -water-colours, tastefully framed in a simple 
passe-partout. And this was all. 

At three o’clock every thing was ready, 
and the last patient workers went home to 
rest and dress. And how shall I tell you 
about the evening? You have all been in 
such places, and can imagine this. But 
what Ican I will. The lhghts were bright, 
the children tastefully dressed, their great- 
est adornment being the brightest and hap- 
piest of faces. The little chapel was filled 
with people, full of kindly interest, respond- 
ing to the invitation of the children to 
their friends. This was the only means 


164 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


that Fannie had taken of announcing the 
evening's entertainment,—letting the little 
ones tell, in their own enthusiastic way, 
of their desire to receive. There was a 
small admission-fee, and then the supper 
was free to all, as Fannie said the idea of 
selling things to eat at a fair, large or 
small, had always been extremely distaste- 
ful to her. The other articles people were 
more than welcome to buy. She herself 
secured Ella’s little water-colour; and the 
other things sold well, either from real 
merit, or from benevolent interest on the 
part of the purchaser. 

Just before the end of the evening the 
children belonging to the society were in- 
vited to meet again in the morning, and 
then all went home excepting Fannie, her 
father and mother, and two or three others, 
who remained to leave things in order for 
the night; and, while they were counting 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS 165 


the receipts, Ella slipped into Fannie’s 
hand a bill for fifty dollars, which she said 
her father had asked her to give her then 
in May’s name. This was a little more 
joy than Fannie was prepared to bear; and 
I shall hardly be justified in telling what 
I know of the overflowing of her heart 
that night, as she has never confessed it 
even to Hsther, from whom she kept no 
other details of these events. 

The next morning the children assem- 
bled, as requested. Fannie appointed a 
Saturday in February for the next meeting 
of the Society of Ministering Children; 
then she told them the amount received 
the night before. Besides May’s gift of 
fifty dollars, there were sixty-five taken at 
the door and tables. A large proportion of 
this was the proceeds of the flower-table. 
The bouquets were all choice, and John had 


shown much skill, not only in arranging 


166 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


them, which was always the case, but in 
making a great many more than seemed 
possible from the quantity of flowers he 
cut. The Christmas green had been in 
great demand, and the little fancy table 
brought its due share. So that, counting 
all sources of receipts, it was not really 
surprising that they had taken twice as 
much as the most sanguine had thought 
possible. “She said she hoped they were 
learning together, and would remember 
all their lives, that the truest, purest joy 
permitted us of God comes from doing 
good, when we do it from love to Jesus 
and our fellow-men. She hoped that they 
had been half as happy as she had been: 
she did not think that she had ever known 
a time more full of joy than the last few 
menths. And now the box was packed, 
and ready to start in the morning express; 


and when word was received of its safe — 


CHILDREN § HEARTS AND HANDS. 167 


arrival she would let them know, and they 
should hear the letter. Then the children 
took all that was left on the supper-table, 
and carried it away to give to poor people 
living near; and their hearts were full of 
joy, and their steps were light, and the 
bright sun shone upon them full of bless- 
ing; for their little hands had done that 
which would make many hearts glad, and 
those hearts were hearts that Jesus loved ; 
and he said with his own lips, when he 
was on earth, that what we do for his be- 
loved we do for him. 


168 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


| 7 $. CHAPTER VIII. 
. ry > OME, Marion,” said Kate 
7 + Willard on Christmas eve 


to her sister, not quite two 






# years younger than her- 
; self,—the one eleven, the 
/ other nearly thirteen,— 

Be come, Marion,,come up 
to our room, and I will tell you my plan. 
Tam sure you will like it; and you've been 
such a good little thing to trust me all this 
time. You see, dear mamma is so weak; 
and I thought a goud Christmas breakfast, 
with a nice cup of Mocha coffee, such 
as we used to have, would show her the 


CHILDREN S HEARTS AND HANDs. 169 


love all the same, and really do her more 
good than the little pmcushion. I knew 
my twenty-five cents wouldn’t be enough 
for this good breakfast, and 1 wanted yours 
to help; and you are such a darling dear 
little precious wee bit of a tell-tale, you 
dearie,”’ laughed Katie, giving Marion a 
loving kiss, ‘‘ that I thought perhaps your 
sweet heart couldn’t quite keep it all a 
secret; and I want to surprise papa and 
mamma. Now I’m going to tell you my 
plan; and then you shall tell me that you 
forgive me, for I know you will.” 

‘Oh, you know I always like to have 
you plan, Katie; and as to the forgiving, 
I’m sure I do, if there’s any thing to for- 
give. What is the plan?” 

“Qh, it isn’t very much; but you know 
we can't do much now, at any rate, and 
mamma will love the little just as well. 
See what a splendid moonlight it is; and 

15 


170 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


I have been begging her to let us go out, 
if it 7s evening, just into Mr. Bean’s store: 
he is always so kind, and we will be quiet 
and good and come right back. And 
mamma said, after thinking a minute, 
‘Yes, Katie: I can trust you, darling.’ 
Wasn't it sweet and blessed to have her 
say that? Now, I want twenty cents of 
mine to buy all the coffee I can get for it, 
and then five of mine and five of yours to 
buy some eggs; and then, if you will get a 
loaf of baker’s bread, you will have ten 
cents left, and I think we can get up the 
nicest little breakfast, and it will make 
mamma feel strong all day, and perhaps 
she will almost be merry for a little while. 
We'll get up early, and have every thing in 
order, and the kitchen so warm, before she 
comes out. [ll make a splendid omelet,—I 
know just how, for I used to see Bridget 
do it,—and some fricaseed potato, and the 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 171 


toast of baker’s bread, andthe coffee! Won't 
it be splendid ?” 

“Yes, indeed! Let’s go. Oh, it is just 
the nicest thing you could have thought of, 
Katie!’ said Marion, giving her sister an 
enthusiastic hug. 

“ And, now, what shall we do with the 
ten cents? JI know what I should like; 
but I want two things, and can’t do both. 
I should like to get some oysters for papa; 
but then I should like to buy something 
for Eddy, too.” 

“So would I,” said Katie, as they went 
out; “but you know we have the picture 
scrap-book for him, and papa will make 
up a story for every picture and keep him 
happy many a long hour. I'd get the 
oysters, if I were you, and before they are 
up we'll scallop them and tuck them away 
all ready for baking at dinner-time. It 
will be just a little dish for papa; and yon 


172 CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


know he used to like them so. What do 
you think ?” 

“Yes; I guess that will have to do. But 
poor little Eddy! it seems as if he ought 
to have something more than that for 
Christmas,’ answered Marion, who made a 
special pet of her little brother. 

‘Well, do just as you like, darling,” 
said Katie; ‘‘but perhaps Jesus will send 
him something; and I think this is best, 
for he can have some of the nice things to 
eat, and I am sure they will do mamma 
and papa so much good.’ And away they 
went in the clear, cold air, carrying two 
little hearts as warm and glowing with 
unselfish love as any to be found in all the 
wide world on that Christmas-eve. 

Mr. Bean was at the farther end of his 
store, waiting upon an old woman, while in 
front two clerks attended to half a dozen 
other people. | 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDs. 173 


‘Qh; what a good chance!” whispered 
Katie to Marion: ‘he’s all alone over there! 
Come quick !’’ 

Mr. Bean bent a benevolent, homely face 
over the counter, and said,— 

‘Well, my little ladies, what shall I 
serve you with, this bright afternoon ?’ 

Mr. Bean had been a kind and pleasant 
neighbour, often showing some little atten- 
tion to the children, giving them a ride, or 
filling a basket with apples, or sending in 
a little-choice fruit. So that Katie an- 
swered with more freedom than she would . 
have shown a stranger. 

“Now, Mr. Bean, you mustn't laugh at 
our great purchases. We've just a little 
money, and we are going to make as merry 
a Christmas with it as we can. Please 
give me all the coffee that twenty cents 
will pay for: I don’t want any kind but 
the best Mocha. Then I want ten cents’ 


15* 


174+ CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


worth of eggs, and a dozen oysters. Now 
promise not to laugh.” 

‘No, indeed! no, indeed! But it seems 
to me you're late with your purchases 
Everybody got through buyin’ for Christ- 
mas, and it’s a bad time for storekeepers. 
Prices go right down as soon as folks go 
home for Christmas. You ought to have 
come in sooner, for my sake. I shall have 
to give you almost a pound of coffee, and 
half a dozen eggs; and as. for the oysters, 
they a'n’'t so high as they was. Now, 
here’s the real Mocha, all burnt. JI haven't 
got any other; and I suppose you don’t 
care, as long as it isn’t ground, too. Half 
a dozen eggs and the oysters,—twenty and 
ten is thirty, and eight is thirty-eight: 
—thirty-eight cents. Thank you. Good- 
evening. A merry Christmas!” | 

Any one looking on would have been 
amused and pleased with Mr. Bean’s sly 


OHILDREN '§S HEARTS AND HANDS. 175 


kindness, and his interest in making the 
children’s plan—which he at once guessed 
—successful. They carried away nearly 
double the value of the money they left,—a 
whole pound of coffee, the oysters and the 
egos for prices he would not have cared to 
make public. The children hurried out 
into the beautiful frosty air, perfectly de- 
lighted with the successful beginning of 
their plan. 

‘‘ And—only think, Katie!—I have two 
cents over. I might get something for 
Eddy with that. I know! I'll get two 
pipes, to blow soap-bubbles. Only, I can’t 
get them to-night. We mustn’t go into 
any other store.” 

‘No, indeed,” said Katie; ‘‘but I guess 
in the morning, when we run out for the 
bread, that we'll find Wright’s store open, 
and can get them there.”’ 


So they hurried home, and hid their 


176 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


treasures carefully away, and then went 
down to the little warm sitting-room, which 
was kitchen as well, only it was so skil- 
lly arranged with quiet grace and perfect 
aeatness that no one would ever have ima-_ 
gined it was used for any other purpose 
than a sitting-room, had not the stove been 
evidently for cooking. 

Mr. and Mrs. Willard sat in two arm- _ 
chairs, savings of their better days, their 
faces wearing deep marks of sorrow and 
suffering, but withal so happy that it was 
very pleasant to look at them. The lamp 
on the centre-table was bright and cheer- 
ful, and the sliding doors in front of the 
stove gave the effect of an open yrate, and 
the fire-light danced out as if determined 
to do all in its power to add happiness to 
the hearts so bravely bearing their burdens 
that evening. 

As the little girls came in, with their 


CHILDRENS HEARTS AND HANDS. 177 


cheeks rosy red from the keen evening air 
and their eyes sparkling with their untold 
joy, they made the hearts of both their 
parents glad; and, looking upon them all 
at that moment, you would hardly have 
believed that they were in such trouble. 

‘Well, my darlings,” said the mother, 
“you look as if your walk had done you 
good.” 

‘‘Tndeed it has; and weren’t we quick, 
mamma? and it’s so nice and warm here ! 
You've no idea how cold it is out-doors; 
but it’s splendid, too,—such bright moon- 
light. Papa, do look out of the window 
before you go to bed. Come, Marion; let’s 
get our arithmetic, and then we needn't 
study a bit all day to-morrow.” 

An hour after, the little family retired. 
Mr. Willard must go early, because so 
feeble, and the mother so spent her little 
streneth through the day that she was 

M 


178 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


always glad of the hour of rest. Mr. 
Willard rose feebly, helped by his wife, 
and then walked slowly, with the aid of 
crutches, to an adjoining room, where little 
Eddy was already fast asleep in his trundle- 
bed. The girls were soon tucked warmly 
away in feathers and comforters, and mo- 
ther came up for a last look and good-night 
kiss. Katie said,— 

‘“Mamma, please don’t get up till we 
call you, to-morrow morning. You know 
it’s Christmas; and. Marion and I have set 
our hearts on giving you a holiday. We 
don’t want you to do athing all day. Now, 
do, mamma, promise that you'll not get up 
till we call you, and take a good long nap 
in the morning. We will have every 
thing in perfect order; and it will be such 
fun.” 

Aiter some little remonstrance, the mo- 
ther consented, saying, ‘‘ Well, I will do it 


CHILDREN S HEARTS AND HANDs, 179 


this once, to please you, and thank you, 
my darlings, for your sweet thoughtfulness ; 
hut I really do not need it. Your love is 
my greatest blessing, and something that 
God will never take away. It makes me 
very full of rejoicing this night. Bless 
you, my darlings! Sleep well.’”’ And, kiss- 
ing them both, she went down-stairs, hardly 
able to see the way for the blinding tears 
of gratitude that these glowing little hearts 
were twined so close and lovingly about, 
her. 

‘““Q my God,” she whispered, as she 
almost felt the way down-stairs, ‘‘ we have 
always known, but now thou art more fully 
teaching us, how the one thing here, as in 
heaven, is love. Keep these little hearts 
in thy love, and give them all else of good 
thou canst permit them.” 

Then, putting her lamp on the last stair 
for a moment, she yielded to one of those 


180 UHTLDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


impulses which sometimes seize a heart 
filled over-much, and, lifting her hands, her 
eyes, her whole soul, up to God, laid hold 
of him with one of those pleadings which 
are beyond the expression of words, or 
even inward thought, but which he knows 
how to interpret, and never fails to hear. 
Then; dashing away the tears and all traces 
of emotion, her face was again overspread 
with the cheerful aspect which was its 
usual expression. 

The next morning, ee the bright rising 
sun sent its first ray into the little kitchen 
sitting-room, the first thing it noticed was 
the perfect neatness and order that reigned. 
Not a bit of dirt on the carpet, not a speck 
of dust anywhere; a snowy table-cloth, 
with dishes laid in utmost precision, and 
the stove so clean and bright that it looked 
as if it had not the remotest association 


with cooking. Presently the bright-eyed 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 181 


Katie emerged from a little pantry. She 
went to an opposite door and listened a 
moment, smiling, and then rapped, and 
called,— 

‘‘A merry Christmas, mamma! We 
give you leave to get up now. Are you 
awake ?”’ 

‘Yes, my darling; and a merry (C rist- 
mas to you. I'll soon be out.” 

Then was heard a gay, ringing laugh 
out-of-doors, and a little girl and a rosy- 
cheeked boy might be seen, the latter try- 
ing to carry a great brown bundle and a 
little brown bundle; and when he slipped 
on the clean white snow, he laughed, and 
sald,— 

“Qh, sister Marion, isn’t it nice? my 
pieser-book, and my pipes, and the bread for 
mamma! Merry Christmas! merry Christ- 
mas !’” 

Then the sun went behind a great black 

16 


182 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


cloud, and saw nothing more just then for 
half an hour; and when he came out again 
the very first thing he did was to peep 
into the little kitchen sitting-room again. 
And he found on the table a foaming ome- 
let, and the clearest luscious coffee that 
ever was made, and hot milk, and white 
toast, and a little dish of potatoes, all pre- 
pared in a style worthy of a French cook. 
And around the table were five beaming 
faces,—a little boy clapping his hands and 
saying, ‘‘Oh, I’m so glad, so glad it’s 
merry Christmas!’ and two little girls 
with a joy in their faces that only comes 
to those who try to make others happy; 
and the father and mother so pleased with 
the love and skill of the precious hearts 
and hands of two devoted children. And 
when they had thanked and praised them 
for their tenderness and pains, and mamma 


had told them she should feel strong all 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 183 


days for the delicious coffee, they all united 
in thanks to the kind Father in heaven, 
who thus far every day had given them 
food and shelter and the richest love; and 
they prayed that, though the way before 
them now looked very dark, he would give 
them faith to believe that all would be 
given that they required. And they all 
looked as if they had that faith and could 
rest in it rejoicing. 

Then the little girls made mamma keep 
her promise, and sit down with a bit of 
light needle-work, while they cleared the 
breakfast-things away and put the room 
in perfect order, and so quietly that one 
might have wondered how it was all done. 
Then they left papa and mamma for a quiet 
chat, and Eddy amusing himself with his 
soap-bubbles, while they went off to arrange 
the other rooms. 

Half an hour after, Mr. Barnard came in, 


184 GHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


as he often did in thé morning, bringing his 
paper. ‘It was such a charming, sunny 
room in the morning,”’ he said; ‘“‘just the 
place to keep one’s spirits up while read- 
ing the news.” | 

After the greetings of the day, he ran 
his eye hastily over the paper, and then, 
giving it to Mr. Willard, began to talk in 
his usual pleasant way. Presently Eddy 
jumped up and ran to him sag a big 
bubble. 

“What a splendid b bubble, Eddy! Is that 
pipe a Christmas-present ?”’ 

“Yes, sir. Marion gave it to.me; and 
[ve got another; and they cost two cents. 
But my mamma and papa they’ve got 
heaps of money. Papa just said he'd got 
five dollars, that would last all winter.” 

In vain the parents tried to stop the 
child when they perceived that he was 
about to repeat what they had just been 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 185 


talking over together; and their very effort 
to do so showed Mr. Barnard that what he 
said was only too true a revelation of their 
impending want. 

‘‘ My friend, is this so? Is this all you 

have for the winter?” he asked. 
Mr. Willard waited a moment. before 
replying, and then said,— 

‘Tt is even so; but we meant no human 
friend to know it, believing God will cer- 
tainly remember our necessities. But we 
have been very careless in speaking before 
this child, who was so still that we forgot 
he was here. Our friends have done so 
much, we could not go-to them again; and 
even now I feel sure God has heard us cry 
and will soon answer us. Please let it pass 
as if you had not heard. We have faith, 
and enough provision for to-day. Now let 
us speak of his tender goodness to us daily, 


and how we are blessed with riches which 
| 16# 


186 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 
& ° 


no earthly poverty will ever take away.” 
And he began to tell the story of the break- 
fast, and the devoted love of his little girls, 
when there came a loud rap at the door. 
Before Mrs. Willard could open it, Mr. 
Bean walked in, with a great bundle he had 
just taken from his little sled. 

“ Merry Christmas, Mrs. Willard; merry 
Christmas, sir; merry Christmas, Mr. Bar- 
nard; and you, Master Eddy. A bright 
morning, keen and clear. I’ve brought you 
half a bag of old coffee from my store. 
Not at liberty to say who sent it. Not 
me, nor Mr. Barnard there: you needn’t 
look at him. Some one ‘twas buyin’ for 
himself, and thought a whole bag rather 
too heavy a load for his old horse; and 
I'll warrant it to be as good coffee as 
ever you drank. Good-mornin’; good- 
mornin’. No thanks, I’m obliged to you. 
All in the line of business, all in the line 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 187 


vf business. Good-mornin’!’”” And away 
he went, laughing just asel think Santa 
Claus does when he rolls scmething down 
the chimney and then peeps in at the 
window to see the surprise he has given. 

‘Surely we are very kindly remembered 
by the Lord and by his children,”’ said Mr. 
Willard, as Mr. Barnard quickly followed 
Mr. Bean; ‘‘and I think, Anna, this will do 
you more good than all the tonics the drug- 
gists could give. You have always de- 
pended so much upon it, and now again 
you have it. I am very thankful.” 

Half an hour after, there was another 
loud rap at the door. Mrs. Willard opened 
it, and a man asked,— 

“T say/ Does Mr. Willard live here? 
Well, I'm glad of that: have been tryin’ 
to find him this ten minutes, and it’s thun- 
derin’ cold. Here’s a box came by this 
mornin’s express. Guess I'll take it inside : 


188 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


I see he’s got crutches. Nothin’ to pay ; 
nothin’ to pay, Thank you, marm,” he 
added, as Mrs. Willard wished him a merry 
Christmas: ‘‘I guess I'll have it. (Got 
through my mornin’ rounds now, ond am 
off for a ride with a batch of chJdron. 
Nothin’ like that to make a ran mersy. 
marm,—children and sleigh-bells tryin’ 
which will laugh the loudest. 1 wish you 
the same. ‘! Good-mornin’ !”” And away he 
ran, slapping his hands against his shoul- 
ders, partly to get them. warm, and partly 
because in so merry a mood that he must 
do something or every thing tq give his 
spirits play. 

A box! A box four feet square! What 
.could it be? It certainly was directed to 
Rey. Henry Willard: otherwise it must 
have been a mistake. The sun shone on 
it so pee" and clear that it must be day- 
ligt sh and they could noi be dreaming. 






























































































































































Wearts and Wands 





















































iit 
Tam 




























































































































































































































































































I 
AMMAN 
i 


































































































































































































































































































‘““A box! a box four feet square! What could it be?’’ 





oe 


we: 


ps 





CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 189 


What could it be, and who could have sent 
it? They stood over it, wondering, till 
Mr. Willard suddenly laughed, and said 
that the easiest way to solve the question 
would be to open it. Then Mrs. Willard 
laughed too, and, calling Katie and Marion, 
they soon had hammer and chisel and went 
towork. Kddy danced with delight. How 
much excitement there always is to a child 
in the arrival of a box by express! but in 
this case hardly more than to the others, 
though they did not exactly dance. The 
~ cover was off. On the top of a pure white 
napkin which concealed the mysterious 
contents, lay an envelope, directed to Mrs. 
Willard. She took it up a little nervously, 
and the first thing that fell out was a check 
on the bank. She looked at it, once, 
twice, three times. She thought her eyes 
mistaken. But no! There it was. “Pay 
to the order of Rev. Henry Willard z 


190 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


hundred and fifteen dollars.’’ She passed 
it to him, and said,— 
_ * My husband, we know not whence it 
comes; but let. us thank God: he has heard 
our prayers;” and, hastily brushing away 
two tears, she turned to the signature of — 
the letter, and said, ‘‘ Oh, it 1s from Fannie 
C——, the young lady who so kindly pro- 
posed to make a few things for the children. 
Let us see. No, children: we will not 
open the things till we have read the letter. 
Now be quiet and patient, and then you 
may take every thing out.” 

These three dear children always did as 
mother said; and so all listened while she 
read :— 

“To Mr. and Mrs. Willard, Katie, Marion, and 
Eddy, the Society of Ministering Children send 
greeting, and earnest wishes for a merry Christ- 
mas. We beg you to accept, in the name of the 


Lord, our gift to you as our gift to him. We 
have worked in his love, we know that you abide. 


CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDs. 191 


in his love, and, with that freedom and perfect 
understanding, that mystery of sympathy which 
exists only between his beloved, we venture to 
send the work of our hands to you, who in the 
forms of the world arestrangers to us, but in reality 
does not the closest tie bind us? Your permis- 
sion to do something for the children was given 
so truly in the spirit of his love, that as we have 
' been led onstep by step beyond that permission and 
our proposing, so we have done, rejoicing with 
great gladness and thanksgiving that he has laid 
the work in our hands, and believing that we 
have been directed by his immediate will. Means 
have been: given us which we did not expect; 
thoughts have come to us—whence ?—that have 
resulted in profit of which we did not dream. 
And now, with hearts rejoicing a thousand times 
more in sending than yours can in receiving, we 
yce more beg you to accept our gift in the same 
spirit in which we believe it is tendered,—hum- 
ble, Christian love. 
“Very truly, yours, 
“FRANNIE O : 
“In behalf of the Society of Ministering Children.” 





‘Dear Mrs. WILLARD :— 

“The above was dictated by the children,—not 
consecutively, but from time to time, when I have 
asked them what to say to you when we send the 


192 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


box, they have given me these thoughts, which I 
have noted down and gathered here for you. 
Our society grew from the little gathering of half 
a dozen girls to a much larger number, who 
named themselves the Society of Ministering 
Children, from a book we are reading, a copy 
of which we enclose for Katie and Marion. Our 
means, too, increased beyond, our thought, and we 
were tempted to do more than perhaps we were 
really authorized to do for you. But, from the 
spirit of your sweet letter, we thought you would 
accept it, as we offer it, in Christ’s love. Then 
came the thought of a quiet tea-party in our 
chapel, to make a little purse; and one child pro- 
posed one thing, and one another, until we had a 
little table of their fancy work, another of greens, 
and another of flowers. And if you could have 
seen the children’s delight in sewing, in tying 
greens, in arranging flowers, and the final even- 
ing gathering, you would pardon every hberty we 
have taken. One liberty we have not taken. We 
beg you not for one moment to think that we have 
made your name public. Even the children do 
not know it. Now one word with regard to the 
money. The amount is more than we hoped, 
even when deducting fifty dollars sent by a friend 
of mine in the name of a beautiful little daughter 
whom God took away two summers ago. And 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 19a 


. take the liberty to request that the fifteen 
dollars over the hundred be used to relieve you 
from heavy household work this winter. Please 
excuse me for suggesting it; but the thought came 
to me, and I sometimes think such thoughts are 
not of ourselves. The cloak for you is from the 
mother of the little departed one. 

“Joining the children in wishing you all a 
merry Christmas, 

“Very truly, yours, 


‘fhAnwin C———?) 


Mrs. Willard could hardly read this aloud. 
Her voice often trembled, and her eyes 
filled with tears, till the children wondered 
what could be the matter with mamma, 
they felt so happy and she seemed to feel 
so sad. They had not learned that depth 
of joyful emotion which brings tears. But 
when the letters were read, she remembered 
her children, and, jumping up with some- 
thing of their own gayety, she began to 
take out the contents of the box. First there 


came a bundle wrapped by itself, marked 
N 17 


194 CHILDREN’S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


“Eddy,” and another lying close beside it, 
marked ‘‘ Marion.’ ‘They opened Eddy’s 
first. Two beautiful little suits of coarse, 
dark-blue flannel, jacket and pants, trimmed 
with a simple white braid, so serviceable, so 
warm, and prettier than you ever would 
have thought the flannel could make; an 
outfit of under-clothing, and such a picture 
story-book; and then, besides, there was a 
top! Was’ever little fellow’s joy so great? 
Marion’s bundle was like Katie’s, which 
lay just beneath,—two new dresses for each, 
one of calico and one of good warm plaid, 
and a good outfit of other things. And 
the story-book,—‘‘Ministering Children:” 
oh, what a feast! and pictures in it, too! 
Mamma’s bundle came next. A nice 
loose wrapper, so comfortable, and white 
garments, and a dress, and—‘‘only see! 
Oh, mamma! mamma! A cloak! such a 
beautiful cloak for you! Oh, nothing, °10- 


CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 195 


thing could be so nice! and it’s so warm, 
you can go out in the coldest days. Oh, 
what a merry, merry Christmas! Now for 
papa’s things.” | 

Four shirts, and other useful garments, 
and beneath every thing a dressing-gown 
of beautiful warm gray cloth, trimmed with 
blue. Was there ever such a dressing- 
gown of gray and blue? The children 
thought they had never seen any thing 
so handsome before. And then all must 
be looked over and inspected again, and 
smoothed, and stroked, and folded, and un- 
folded. And then Mr. Willard took his 
Bible and read aloud a psalm of praise, 
and then offered an outpouring of thanks- 
giving to God which would have moved 
any listener to tears, and put to shame, by 
its peaceful faith, the desponding or un- 
believing heart. 

That evening, when the children had 


196 CHILDREN'S HEARTS AND HANDS. 


gone to bed, and Mr. Willard was reading 
an interesting book lent by Mr. Barnard, 
Mrs. Willard sat, apparently sewing; but 
her husband, looking up, saw tears stream- 
ing down the face that was always so 
bright to cheer him in times of trouble. 

“Why, Anna, my darling wife! are you 
sad to-night? What makes you weep so, 
dear ?” 

- He held his arms out to her, and she 
came and knelt down by him, almost sob- 
bing there, and, laying her head on his 
shoulder, said,— 

“Oh, Henry, Henry, I can keep the 
tears back when we feel the burdens and 
the sorrows and the want. But now you 
must let me weep. It will do me good; 
and you know it is all for joy !’’ 


THE END. 


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